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V 


i  ». 


POEMS. 


POEMS 


HENRY  THEODORE  TUCKERMAN. 

; 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,    REED,   AND    FIELDS. 

MDCCCLI. 


Kottred  according  ta  Act  of  Congreu,  in  the  year  1851,  by  Henry  T.  Tuckrrman, 
In  the  Clerk'*  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  ol  Ma«McliiM?iis. 


Tm  IWT«.X.  TURHY  &  EMKBSOX,  PKI.VTEIW. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  POETRY      ....  .1 

THE  APOLLO  BELVIDERE  .  .  .  .  31 

MARY 37 

NORTHAMPTON  ......  39 

LOVE  AND  FAME      .  .  .  .  .  .44 

NEWPORT  BEACH  .....  47 

THE  VESTAL  ......      53 

WASHINGTON'S  STATUE  ....  61 

To  AN  ELM  ......      63 

TASSO  TO  LEONORA       .....  66 

THE  MODERN  HERO  .  .  .  .  .69 

HELOISE  ......  74 

THE  GREEK  SLAVE  .  .  .  .  .76 

ROME     .......  82 

TRI-MOUNTAIN         .  .  .  .  .  .89 

THE  RINGLET   ......  92 

WINTER       .......      95 

VICTORINE          ......  97 

IL  PENSEROSO           ......     100 

SLEEPY  HOLLOW  .....  103 

LORD  BYRON  AT  VENICE    .....     106 


M16357I 


VI  CONTENTS. 

LUNA  —  AN  ODE  ...  •  108 

EVA .111 

To  LADY  BLANCHE  —  A  FAVORITE  STEED         .  .  114 

SURREY  TO  GERALDINE        .  .  .  .  .117 

WEST  POINT      .  .  .  .  .  .119 

THE  DIRGE  OF  THE  MARINER         ....     122 

THE  NIGHT-BLOOMING  CEREUS  .  .  .  1^4 

THE  HOLY  LAND     .  .  .  .  .  .126 

LOVE  AND  TIME 129 

THE  Two  PALMS     .  .  .  .  .  .132 

THE  UNKNOWN  PORTRAIT          ....          135 

To  THE  CYPRESS     .  .  .  .  .  .137 

LAKE  CANEPO    ......  138 

FAITH'S  WARNING  ......     142 

SONNETS. 

I.  FREEDOM       .            .            .            .            .  .147 

II.  VANDERLYN'S  ARIADNE               .            .            .  148 

III.  To  ONE  DECEIVED    .            .            .            .  .149 

IV.  SLEEP     ......  150 

V.  THE  WILLOW 151 

VI.  THE  BALCONY     .....  152 

VII.  ON  A  LANDSCAPE  BY  BACKHUYSEN  .            .  .     153 

VIII.  THE  INDIAN  SUMMER      ....  154 

IX.  ON  A  PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  NORTON              .  .     155 

X.  ON  A  BUST  OF  WEBSTER           ...  156 

XI.  SPRING 157 

XII.  To  Pius  IX  i»  1848                .           .           .  158 

XIII.  To  THE  SAME  IN  1849  159 


CONTENTS.  Vii 

XIV.  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ALLSTON  .  .  160 

XV.  FROM  THE  ITALIAN         .  .  .  .161 

XVI.  ON  THE  BASSO  RELIEVO  OF  JUPITER  AND  HEBE     162 
I.  To  JENNY  LIND  .  .  .  .163 

XVIII.  DESOLATION  .....  164 

XIX.  STEINHAUSEN'S  HERO  AND  LEANDER       .  .     165 

XX.  DELAROCHE'S  PICTURE  OF  NAPOLEON  CROSSING  THE 

ALPS        .  ...  166 

XXI.  ALLEGHANIA         .  .  .  .  .167 

XXII.    0,    FOR   A    CASTLE    ON   A   WOODLAND   HEIGHT!  168 

XXIII.  THE    RAINDROPS   PATTER    ON    THE    CASEMENT    STILL     169 

XXIV.  WHAT  THOUGH  OUR  DREAM  is  BROKEN?       .  170 

XXV.    IN   MY   FIRST   YOUTH  .  .  .  .171 

XXVI.  COURAGE  AND  PATIENCE  .  .  .  172 

XXVII.  LIKE  THE  FAIR  SEA  ....  173 

XXVIII.  THE  BUDS  HAVE  OPENED  *  .  .  174 

XXIX.  SEMPRE  LO  STESSO  ....  175 


POEMS. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  POETRY. 

SOURCE  of  the  grand,  the  beautiful,  the  true, 
Awake  thy  spell,  thy  sacred  glow  renew  ! 
Teach  me  to  trace  the  influence  divine 
That  warms  the  hero  and  bedecks  the  shrine, 
Steals,  like  a  shadow,  at  the  twilight  hour, 
Broods  o'er  the  mountain,  nestles  in  the  flower, 
Bold  as  the  eagle,  gentle  as  the  dove, 
To  scale  the  stars  or  plume  the  wings  of  love  ! 

Why  go  we  forth,  impatient  to  explore 
The  storied  wonders  of  a  distant  shore, 
Hallowed  by  peerless  art  and  glory's  tomb, 
Or  clad  by  warmer  suns  in  richer  bloom  ? 
When  on  the  ear  first  breaks  the  seaman's  strain, 
Blent  with  the  clanking  of  the  rising  chain, 
1 


The  dreary  signal  sounding  to  depart, 

Each  long  wild  cry  thrills  through  the  burdened  heart, 

Ilninc  visions,  thrice  endeared,  usurp  the  place 

Of  foreign  pictures,  fancy  loved  to  trace  ; 

Hope's  siren  voice  becomes  a  mournful  knell 

When  quivering  lips  breathe  forth  a  long  farewell ; 

But  when  sad  thoughts  are  quelled,  tears  dashed  away, 

Old  ocean  greets  us  with  his  glistening  spray, 

And  while  around  the  sullen  waters  roll, 

Their  solemn  murmur  pacifies  the  soul. 

O,  it  is  glorious  to  sojourn  awhile 

Upon  the  trackless  deep,  to  know  its  smile 

At  summer  eve,  when  gorgeous  sunsets  throw 

O'er  the  foam-crests  an  amethystine  glow, 

Through  flying  cloud-rifts  watch  the  orbs  on  high, 

Like  angels'  censers  waving  in  the  sky, 

And  hear  the  wind-hymns  pealing  loud  and  clear, 

To  sound  their  triumph  o'er  the  boundless  sphere  ; 

Or  watch  the  moon  hang  soothingly  above, 

Like  a  pure  crescent  for  the  brow  of  love, 

While  her  rays  tremble  on  the  ocean's  breast, 

I/ikf  childhood's  locks  by  sportive  airs  caressed. 

And  Earth's  fair  scenes  —  the  river's  lucent  \:\ 
r That  mirrors  mountains  in  its  crystal  face, 
The  autumn-tinted  woods,  whose  branches  sway 
Like  mighty  hosts  in  festival  array, 


3 


The  cascade's  anthem  and  the  incense  sweet 

Wafted  from  thickets  nestled  at  its  feet, 

The  cloistral  silence  of  the  forest  aisles, 

And  charms  that  live  where  floral  beauty  smiles, 

Palms  whose  high  tops  the  upper  breezes  woo, 

And  amber  clouds  that  fleck  a  heaven  of  blue, 

Are  all  symbolic  to  poetic  sight 

Of  higher  glory  and  supreme  delight. 

Who  has  looked  forth  upon  a  southern  vale, 

When  o'er  it  sweeps  Spring's  renovating  gale, 

To  wave  the  vine-stalks  pendent  from  the  trees, 

Like  garlands  dallying  with  the  sun  and  breeze, 

Shake  off  the  dewdrops  in  their  jewelled  pride, 

From  jasmin  bud  and  aloe's  thorny  side, 

Stir  the  meek  violet  in  its  dim  retreat, 

And  die  in  zephyrs  at  the  mountain's  feet ;  — 

Who  that  has  rocked  upon  Lake  George's  tide, 

When  its  clear  ripples  in  the  moonlight  glide, 

And  heard,  amid  the  hills  and  islets  fair, 

The  bugle's  echo  wake  the  summer  air ; 

Or  stood  on  ^Etna's  brow  at  break  of  day, 

When  crimson  lines  first  tinge  the  pearly  gray, 

While  wreaths  of  smoke  and  lurid  flames  rose  nigh, 

Flashing  like  altar  fires  against  the  sky, 

And  streaming,  with  a  wild  and  fitful  glow, 

O'er  the  black  lava  crags  and  glittering  snow  ; 


And  who  Niagara's  loveliness  has  known, 
The  ra'mhow  diadem,  thr  emerald  throne, 
Nor  felt  thy  spell  each  baser  thougbt  control, 
And,  with  delicious  awe,  subdue  the  soul  ? 

And  whence  the  pleasure  sad  and  undefined, 
That  steals,  like  autumn  twilight,  through  the  mind, 
From  monuments  of  eld  —  the  relics  gray 
Of  men  and  eras  long  since  passed  away  ? 
Visions  of  by-gone  worlds  in  shadows  throng 
Through  memory's  vestibule,  when  night's  calm  song 
Mingles  its  cadence  with  the  moaning  breeze 
That  stirs  the  weeds  upon  the  crumbling  frieze, 
Plays  o'er  the  prostrate  column's  fluted  side 
As  painted  lizards  round  it  fearless  glide, 
Waves  the  untrodden  grass  that  rankly  grows 
Over  a  buried  city's  long  repose, 
While  every  echo  of  our  footsteps  there 
Fills  the  deep  silence  of  the  pulseless  air. 
'Tis  the  enchantment  of  poetic  thought, 
With  such  a  magic  charm  divinely  fraught, 
As  can  resummon  ages,  spread  once  more 
The  ruined  temple's  gaily  pictured  floor, 
Its  arches  rear,  and  bid  the  concave  ring 
With  minstrel  strains  or  priestly  worshipping. 
And  thus  Time's  calm  and  mystic  spirit  calls 
At  midnight  through  tin-  Coliseum's  walls, 


Or  in  the  old  cathedral's  mellow  air 

The  musing  stranger  lures  to  silent  prayer, 

Weaves  moss  upon  the  rocks,  with  ivy  twines 

War's  mouldering  tower  and  Faith's  deserted  shrines, 

Smooths  the  carved  line,  imprints  the  forehead  meek, 

Silvers  the  hair  and  pales  the  glowing  cheek. 

And  would  ye  feel  the  sacred  charm  of  Art, 

Prove  its  poetic  empire  o'er  the  heart  ? 

Beneath  the  unpillared  dome  go  stand  and  gaze, 

As  o'er  its  frescos  sunshine  faintly  plays  ; 

See  genius  radiant  with  immortal  grace, 

Beaming  so  godlike  from  Apollo's  face, 

And  Mary's  smile,  by  Raphael's  touch  beguiled, 

Bent  in  meek  gladness  on  her  slumbering  child, 

The  poor,  forgiven  one,  with  golden  hair 

Gemmed  by  the  dewdrops  of  subdued  despair  ; l 

Or  Egypt's  queen  in  orient  beauty  drest, 

Holding  the  viper  to  her  snowy  breast. 

Nor  gaze  alone,  let  thine  enchanted  ear 

Catch  every  note  that  music  scatters  near ; 

When  the  soft  echo  of  the  village  bell, 

Or  peasant's  reed  comes  floating  down  the  dell, 

When  winter  gales,  with  leafless  boughs  at  play, 

Wake  dirges  wild  to  mourn  the  year's  decay, 

And  sylvan  choristers,  in  myriad  tones, 

Welcome  back  summer  to  the  northern  zones ; 


6 


Or  when  some  queen  of  sweet  Euterpe's  train, 
Pours  forth  her  spirit  to  a  master  strain, 
How  quickly  high,  impassioned  fancies  rise, 
Arrayed  in  melody's  ethereal  guise  ! 
Won  from  our  clay,  without  death's  fearful  strife, 
We  taste  the  glories  of  poetic  life. 
Divine  Bellini !  as  I  wandered  o'er 
The  fertile  valleys  of  thy  native  shore, 
Each  crystal  wave  upheaving  seemed  to  sigh 
For  the  lost  harp  whose  strains  can  never  die  : 
Though  cold  thy  brow  beneath  the  laurel  crown, 
Thy  country's  name  enshrines  thy  young  renown, 
Thy  melody,  in  tones  of  fervent  truth, 
Embalms  the  ardor  of  thy  gifted  youth  ; 
There  the  soul  triumphs,  vanished  bliss  deplores, 
With  joy  exults,  in  adoration  soars, 

loin's  appeal  sweeps  every  heart  alon^. 
Ami  love's  own  rapture  gushes  forth  in  song. 
O  for  a  lyre  of  melody  profound, 
That  I  might  sing  the  poetry  of  sound  ! 
That  thrilling  language  worthy  to  unroll 
Tli«*  deep  emotions  of  an  earnest  soul, 
On  which  glad  angels  from  the  realms  abo\ 
Brought  to  the  earth  their  embassy  of  1< 
Whose  airy  spell  in  Miriam's  triumph  rose, 
And  won  from  Saul  the  memory  of  his  wo« 


•Cheered  Milton's  blindness,  harmonized  his  lays, 
And  wove  a  charm  for  Mary's  captive  days  ; 2 
Love's  true  expression  caught  from  young  Mozart, 
And  drove  death's  shadow  from  his  trembling  heart.3 
O,  if  there  be  an  art  familiar  here, 
Whose  welcome  waits  us  in  a  higher  sphere, 
'Tis  that  which  now  so  winningly  reveals 
All  that  the  fancy  paints  or  spirit  feels. 
Hence  we  invoke  the  moving  grace  of  song, 
When  stars  or  clouds  around  our  pathway  throng ; 
Kindle  young  valor  by  the  trumpet's  note, 
And  from  the  lute  bid  love's  soft  pleadings  float, 
Wake  holy  musing  in  the  organ's  peal, 
And  joy's  blithe  echo  from  the  clarion  steal, 
Cheer  the  bride's  visions,  ere  in  sleep  they  fade, 
With  the  sweet  cadence  of  the  serenade, 
And  to  the  altar  move  with  measured  tread, 
To  breathe  a  requiem  o'er  the  honored  dead. 

There  are  who  all  poetic  worship  deem 
The  vague  conception  of  an  idle  dream, 
All  hues  romantic  dash  away  with  scorn, 
As  sickly  mists  of  morbid  fancy  born ; 
Would  quench  in  years  the  spirit's  richest  gift, 
And  wed  brave  manhood  to  ignoble  thrift, 
Boast  of  the  age  when  reason's  cool  defence 
Can  vanquish  sentiment  by  common  sense, 


And  feeling's  pristine  earnestness  control 

By  the  firm  barrier  of  a  frozen  soul, 

Dniw  <lo\vn  blithe  fancy  from  her  joyous  flight, 

And  still  the  music  of  unsought  delight : 

Not  such  the  faith  which  court  and  tented  glade 

Cherished  through  ages  lost  in  mental  shade, 

Nor  such  the  hope  of  that  immortal  day 

That  ancient  bards  have  rescued  from  decay, 

When  for  poetic  empire  sages  strove, 

In  temple  porch  and  academic  grove, 

The  free  and  patient  votaries  of  Truth 

Invoking  reverence  for  the  dreams  of  youth. 

Each  has  his  pharos  ;  —  some  the  twinkling  ray 

Of  glow-worm  joys  that  glimmer  by  the  way, 

Thought's  prime  apostates  who  profess  to  be 

Vibrating  ever  from  repose  to  glee, 

All  buoyant  float  down  life's  tumultuous  stream, 

And  hail  each  bubble's  transitory  gleam; 

Others,  of  deeper  mood,  compelled  to  think, 

Their  vassal  natures  to  a  dogma  link, 

By  meteors  led,  and,  lik<-  tin-  quarry  slave, 

Di'_r  in  Opinion's  mine  a  living  grave, 

Or  tamely  drudge  where'er  the  mass  may  lead, 

And  swrar  allegiance  to  the  rri^mii^  cn-r.l  ; 

Wbilr  the-  false  flanir  and  srrpcnt-\vu\ en  fold 

Of  Appetite  a  baser  onlrr  mould. 


9 


Though  lofty  hopes  and  fancies  high  and  free 
Oft  wage  relentless  war  with  destiny, 
Heed  not  the  voice  that  bids  thee  turn  aside 
And  yield  life's  crowning  grace  to  worldly  pride  ; 
With  calm  devotion  to  this  solace  cling, 
And  trust  thy  soul  to  its  angelic  wing, 
And  as  the  sun  upon  an  ice-clad  scene, 
Pours  golden  radiance,  dazzling  yet  serene, 
Earth's  cold  arena  and  life's  melting  ties, 
Warm  with  effulgence  borrowed  from  the  skies ! 

Alas !  that  as  the  strains  of  childhood's  lute 
Pass  into  hoarser  music,  or  grow  mute, 
The  light  that  made  existence  half  divine, 
Should  fade  unheeded  from  the  spirit's  shrine ! 
And  yet,  in  after  years,  when  falls  the  tear 
O'er  joy's  dregged  chalice  or  ambition's  bier, 
We  seek  the  fount  whose  bright  and  fragrant  shower 
Cooled  our  flushed  brows  in  being's  morning  hour, 
And  whose  sweet  murmur  filled  the  heart  of  youth, 
With  the  deep  tones  of  Nature's  living  truth. 
W"e  live  to  see  our  fondest  dreams  betrayed, 
And  sadly  watch  each  hopeful  vision  fade, 
Yet,  still  assured,  bid  fresh  illusions  spring, 
And  to  the  promise  of  the  future  cling ; 
Nay,  on  the  shadows  of  departed  days, 
Delight  to  cast  Imagination's  rays, 


10 


And  seasons  all  nnhrrdrd  in  their  flo\\ . 

Learn  to  contemplate  with  allection's  glow. 

Thus  the  hirst  spirit  that  I  sing  can  lend 

New  charms  to  hope,  with  memory's  visions  blend, 

Call  back  the  smiles  of  days  forever  fled, 

Round  time  to  come  benign  allurements  shed, 

Griefs  misty  shades  and  pleasure's  burning  sun, 

By  a  celestial  arch,  unite  in  one, 

And  to  the  gladdened  pilgrim's  weary  eye, 

Reveal  the  rainbow  of  life's  troubletl  sky. 

How  soon  would  custom  disenchant  the  earth, 
Bid  wonder  cease,  and  quench  the  zest  of  mirth, 
Did  thy  sweet  voice  not  mingle  with  our  strife, 
And  oft  revive  the  miracle  of  life  ! 
As  the  dim  pavement  rich  in  ancient  hues, 
When  sprinkled  o'er,  its  primal  tint  renews, 
So  freshens  Nature  as  thy  holy  tears 
Baptize  the  soul  and  melt  the  frost  of  years. 
Benignant  spirit !  still  thy  smile  impart, 
Exalt  the  mind  and  renovate  the  heart, 
Some  hrttrr  moments  let  us  cherish  still, 
Some  flowers  spare  our  shattered  urns  to  fill, 
Hallow  and  rhrrr  a  few  «rrrrn  spots  below, 
When   lovr  can  meditate  and  fancy  glow, 
Where  at  thy  shrine  a  vigil  we  may  keep, 
And  frrl  our  lives  are  ^  rounded  with  a  sleep!"* 


11 


There  lies  a  land  far  down  a  southern  sea, 
Whose  air,  though  balmy,  is  no  longer  free  ; 
The  briny  gale  and  mountain's  cordial  breath 
Circle  a  race  that  sleep  in  civic  death, 
Yet  matchless  graces  to  that  sleep  belong, 
For  o'er  it  floats  the  atmosphere  of  song. 
Though  withered  crones  sit  spinning  in  the  sun, 
Where  Caesar's  rule  and  Tully's  fame  begun, 
Though  moaning  beggars  crowd  the  fair  domain, 
And  bigot  priests  usurp  a  pampered  reign, 
Still  Beauty  lives,  enamored  of  the  clime, 
And  twines  her  garlands  round  the  wrecks  of  time ; 
Drives  from  the  patriot's  brow  its  hopeless  gloom, 
With  light  that  streams  from  Dante's  lonely  tomb, 
Bids  him,  the  airy  dome  beholding  nigh, 
Hail  Angelo  a  tenant  of  the  sky, 
Muse  on  the  trophies  by  the  Dorian  shore, 
Columbus  bravely  won  and  sadly  wore, 
Or  Galileo's  honored  name  revere, 
Borne  on  the  rays  of  every  golden  sphere. 
Poetic  charms  the  peasant's  olive  face, 
In  Arno's  vale,  adorn  with  placid  grace, 
Flash  from  Venetian  oars  that  tuneful  sway, 
When  moonlight  gilds  the  Adriatic  bay, 
With  warlike  memories  stir  the  verdant  grain 
That  waves  luxuriant  on  the  Lombard  plain, 


Waft  citron  blossoms,  as  the  vesper  bell 
Hies  faintly  down  Palermo's  golden  shell, 
O'er  sweet  Parthenope  in  triumph  stream, 
Like  beacon  flames,  in  each  volcanic  gleam, 
Brood  in  the  stillness  of  Rome's  saintly  piles, 
And  scent  the  breeze  from  Como's  fairy  isles. 

Read  the  great  law  in  Beauty's  cheering  reign, 
Blent  with  all  ends  through  matter's  wide  domain  ; 
She  breathes  hope's  language,  and  with  boundless  range 
Sublimes  all  forms,  smiles  through  each  subtle  change, 
And  with  insensate  elements  combined, 
Ordains  their  constant  ministry  to  mind. 
The  breeze  awoke  to  waft  the  feathered  seed, 
And  the  cloud  fountains  with  their  dew  to  feed, 
Upon  it  many  errands  might  have  flown, 
Nor  woke  one  river  song  or  forest  moan, 
Stirred  not  the  grass,  nor  the  tall  grain  have  bent, 
Like  shoreless  billows  tremulously  spent ; 
Frost  could  the  bosom  of  the  lake  have  glassed, 
Nor  paused  to  paint  the  woodland  as  it  passed, 
The  glossy  seabird  and  the  brooding  dove 
Might  coyly  peck,  with  twinkling  eye  of  love, 
Nor  catch  upon  tin  ir  downy  necks  the  dyes 
So  lik«-  tin-  mottled  hues  of  summer  skies; 

in  tin-  west  roulil  flout,  nor  glory  wear, 
As  if  an  angel's  robes  were  streaming  there  ; 


13 


The  moon  might  sway  the  tides,  nor  yet  impart 
A  solemn  light  to  tranquillize  the  heart, 
And  leagues  of  sand  could  bar  the  ocean's  swell, 
Nor  yield  one  crystal  gleam  or  pearly  shell. 
The  very  sedge  lends  music  to  the  blast, 
And  the  thorn  glistens  when  the  storm  is  past, 
Wild  flowers  nestle  in  the  rocky  cleft, 
Moss  decks  the  bough  of  leaf  and  life  bereft, 
O'er  darkest  clouds  the  moonbeams  brightly  steal, 
The  rainbow's  herald  is  the  thunder's  peal ; 
Gay  are  the  weeds  that  strew  the  barren  shore, 
And  anthem-like  the  breaker's  gloomy  roar ; 
As  love  o'er  sorrow  spreads  her  genial  wings, 
The  ivy  round  a  fallen  column  clings, 
While  on  the  sinking  walls,  where  owlets  cry, 
The  weather-stains  in  tints  of  beauty  lie  ; 
The  wasting  elements  adorn  their  prey, 
And  throw  a  pensive  charm  around  decay ; 
Thus  ancient  limners  bade  their  canvass  glow, 
And  grouped  sweet  cherubs  o'er  a  martyr's  wo. 

Nor  does  the  charm  of  poetry  disdain 
In  forms  instinctive  to  assert  her  reign  ; 
With  graceful  sweep  the  startled  curlews  fly, 
And  the  struck  deer  will  turn  aside  to  die  ; 
How  moves  the  steed  majestical  and  free, 
How  builds  the  beaver,  and  how  stores  the  bee ! 


14 


The  patient  glow-worm  lights  a  torch  of  love, 
And  to  her  goal  flies  on  the  faithful  dove, 
Rare  colors  o'er  the  dying  dolphin  play, 
And  coral  groves  an  insect's  art  betray. 

But  not  alone  where  verdure,  wave  and  sky 
Serenely  blend  to  captivate  the  eye, 
In  the  still  woods  or  soothing  voice  of  streams 
Does  poetry  derive  her  moving  themes. 
The  city  mark,  its  motley  crowd  survey, 
Decked  with  the  trophies  of  blind  Fortune's  sway  ; 
Trace  the  procession  mingling  from  afar, 
The  gaudy  chariot  and  the  funeral  car, 
The  tattered  wretch,  the  belle  in  proud  array, 
The  anxious  plodder  and  the  child  at  play. 
Walk  by  the  port,  at  sunset,  to  descry 
A  leafless  forest  painted  on  the  sky, 
Those  masts  are  winged  triumphantly  to  sweep 
The  cold  gray  bosom  of  the  mighty  deep, 
Spread  wisdom's  beams,  dissevered  worlds  unite, 
Trade's  guerdon  win,  or  dare  the  billowy  fight, 
Each  nation's  ensign  rear  to  foreign  gales, 
And  whiten  ocean  with  a  thousand  sails. 
At  eve,  the  lights  from  every  casement  shed 
lllum<   tin   feast  or  glimmer  o'er  the  dead, 
Shine  on  a  band  who  mutual  blessings  share, 
Or  mock  the  haggard  visage  of  despair ; 


15 


Here  the  pleased  infant's  wondering  sight  engage, 

And  there  proclaim  the  vigil  of  the  sage  : 

The  gable  roof  and  lofty  palace  door, 

The  ancient  spire  with  moonbeams  silvered  o'er, 

The  sunken  tombstone  and  the  cheerful  street 

Humanity's  great  lesson  still  repeat. 

And  home's  calm  privacy  thy  presence  cheers, 
To  wake  its  smiles  and  consecrate  its  tears. 
We  trace  thee  in  the  harp,  the  vase,  the  bust 
That  calls  the  dear  departed  from  the  dust, 
The  pictured  ceiling  and  mosaic  floor, 
The  woodbine  trained  around  the  cottage  door, 
The  sculptured  chalice  brimmed  with  sparkling  wine, 
And  "  flow  of  soul "  that  makes  the  feast  divine. 

And  when  the  eye  can  scan  thy  gifts  no  more, 
When  fancy's  revel  on  the  earth  is  o'er, 
In  some  blest  spot  where  groups  of  noble  trees 
Spread  their  dense  foliage  to  the  summer  breeze ; 
Where  the  oak  yields  its  rich  autumnal  hue, 
And  drip  the  pine  leaves  with  the  morning  dew, 
Where  moans  the  cypress,  or  the  lindens  wave, 
Allured  by  thee  we  find  a  quiet  grave. 
At  Pere  la  Chaise  thy  holy  genius  dwells, 
Hangs  on  each  cross  a  wreath  of  immortels, 
And  thy  bright  dreams  with  hopeful  emblems  fill 
The  shades  of  Auburn  and  fair  Laurel  Hill  ; 


16 


the  d;irk  firs  a  pyramid  behold, 
On  which  the  patriot's  sacred  deeds  are  told, 
A  broken  shaft  speaks  of  departed  youth, 
And  a  white  urn  proclaims  a  maiden's  truth ; 
By  the  dark  portal  of  the  silent  tomb, 
The  wild  birds  warble  and  the  roses  bloom, 
Poetic  graces  round  the  scene  are  shed, 
And  beauty  cheers  a  city  of  the  dead. 

How  vain  the  toil  that  dims  the  eye  of  youth, 
To  garner  barren  words  in  search  of  truth  ! 
What  can  avail  the  gems  of  choicest  lore, 
If  the  pale  student  does  but  count  them  o'er, 
Like  miser's  coin,  and  lacks  the  sacred  flame 
That  wreathes  with  living  light  each  hallowed  name, 
Displays  on  fancy's  flowers  truth's  crystal  dew, 
Draws  from  each  pearl  of  thought  its  richest  hue, 
Blends  scattered  beauties,  and  on  wisdom's  scroll 
Pours  the  full  radiance  of  a  kindred  soul  : 
Transmuting  spirit !  in  thy  magic  fold 
Thought's  common  dross  is  changed  to  virgin  gold  ; 
Chartered  by  thee,  how  deeply  we  engage 
In  the  rich  pathos  of  the  tragic  page ; 
With  Hamlet  muse,  share  Richard's  dream  of  fear, 
Bend  with  Cordelia  o'er  reviving  Lear, 
Imbibe  Othello's  fierce  and  fond  despair, 
Or  breathe  with  Juliet  love's  ecstatic  air ! 


17 


And  what  is  History  unadorned  by  thee  ? 
An  arid  path,  a  shadow-vested  sea, 
Tales  of  a  bigot's  wiles,  a  tyrant's  frown, 
Heartless  espousals  to  secure  a  crown, 
War  after  war,  and  reign  succeeding  reign, 
A  monarch's  pleasure  and  a  people's  bane  : 
Thy  holy  radiance  plays  not  o'er  the  spot, 
Where  kings  were  idolized  and  men  forgot, 
But  fondly  lingers  round  the  Alpine  dell, 
In  whose  sweet  echo  lives  the  name  of  Tell, 
And  lights  the  forest  gloom  where,  undismayed, 
The  Indian  girl  her  father's  vengeance  stayed, 
And  bowed  her  head  to  take  the  savage  blow 
Destined  to  lay  a  captive  stranger  low  ; 
Or,  like  a  star,  eternal  vigil  keeps 
Where  our  world-honored,  angel-hero  sleeps. 

Life's  mighty  sorrows,  by  profound  appeal, 
High  consolation  to  the  soul  reveal ; 
In  the  fierce  onset,  his  expiring  breath, 
All  unawares,  the  warrior  yields  to  death, 
And  Fortune's  child,  when  from  her  temple  hurled. 
Will  bear  a  dauntless  presence  through  the  world  ; 
Roused  by  the  rudeness  of  the  sudden  shock, 
Scorns  pity,  laughs  at  fate,  and,  like  a  rock 
Lashed  by  the  surges  on  life's  dreary  shore, 
Stands  firm  and  lone  till  changeful  time  is  o'er  : 
2 


18 


And  they  who  sec  the  dread  sepulchral  sleep 
O'er  all  their  loved  ones  unrelenting  creep, 
With  firm  endurance  meet  the  fatal  strokes, 
Like  storm-scathed  hills  or  thunder-riven  oaks  ; 
But  milder  sufferings,  more  enduring  wo, 
That,  like  Tophana's  waters,  poison  slow, 5 
Bring  no  excitement  potent  to  sustain, 
Inciting  courage  and  absorbing  pain. 
Such  is  his  lot  in  fragile  frame  arrayed, 
On  whom  disease  her  solemn  hand  has  laid  ; 
Like  a  blithe  bird  with  arrow-shivered  plume, 
Confined  to  lowly  flights  and  narrow  doom, 
Fated  to  watch  his  mates  with  drooping  eye, 
Circle  triumphant  through  the  glowing  sky, 
Fast  moored  his  bark  with  adamantine  chain, 
Impatient  heaves  to  tempt  the  open  main  ; 
And  if  the  notes  of  Fame's  melodious  horn 
Make  his  heart  leap  in  manhood's  eager  morn, 
A  fluttering  pulse  or  throb  of  anguish  wild, 
Mocks  the  frail  hope  that  to  his  fancy  smiled : 
Ah  !  not  for  him  does  pleasure  twine  her  flowers. 
In  festive  hall,  or  laughter-ringing  bowers  ; 
The  charm  of  wit  and  love's  Elysian  strain 
Dispelled  by  trembling  nerve  or  aching  brain  ; 
And  if  the  thrill  bid  rapture's  fountains  flow, 
How  shadow-like  'tis  followed  by  the  throe ! 


19 


How  dark  a  lot  were  being  such  as  this, 

If  unattended  by  poetic  bliss! 

Yet  thus  consoled,  lone  suffering's  patient  child, 

Of  pain  and  weariness  full  oft  beguiled, 

Asks  for  no  throne  but  his  accustomed  chair, 

Nor  rarer  blessings  than  he  summons  there ; 

With  half  closed  eyes,  in  musing  pleasure  lost, 

Dissolves  in  dreams  Time's  devastating  frost, 

Or  roaming  forth  to  court  the  zephyr's  play, 

Noon's  balmy  softness  floating  round  his  way, 

The  rare  communion  quickens  every  vein 

With  rapturous  sense  of  Nature's  blissful  reign. 

Pause  at  this  threshold  ;  shade  thy  weary  eye, 

Sated  with  light  from  Rome's  cerulean  sky. 6 

Yon  flame  that  half  illumes  the  dusky  room, 

A  low  watch-tick,  and  flowers'  faint  perfume 

Alone  give  sign  of  life  ;  approach  and  bend 

O'er  the  low  couch,  to  mark  a  poet's  end : 

No  wife  stands  by,  with  deep  but  chastened  wo, 

To  soothe  death's  stern  and  desolating  throe, 

No  sister's  face  or  father's  form  revered, 

By  a  long  ministry  of  love  endeared, 

Are  there,  his  final  agony  to  cheer 

With  kindly  word  or  sympathizing  tear, 

Bathe  his  parched  lips,  his  cold  hand  fondly  press, 

And  Heaven  invoke  the  parting  soul  to  bless  : 


20 


From  a  more  boy  he  loved  the  Grecian  streams, 
Sappho's  lii«rh  strain  and  Plato's  mystic  dreams, 
Fables  that  live  on  Homer's  deathless  page, 
And  all  the  wonders  of  the  classic  age  : 
He  pondered  on  its  beauty  till  there  grew 
A  passion  those  rare  graces  to  renew, 
And  for  such  strains  his  harp  he  boldly  strung, 
E'en  to  the  accents  of  a  northern  tongue  ; 
The  aim  was  lofty,  worthy  life's  proud  dawn, 
Nobler  than  common  themes  of  fashion  born  ; 
The  Muses  smiled  when  Genius  gave  it  birth, 
But  critics  coldly  laughed  with  scornful  mirth  ; 
The  poet's  eye  grew  bright  with  hectic  fire, 
And  Hope's  cold  visage  stilled  his  trembling  lyre  ; 
He  sought  the  breezes  of  a  southern  sky, 
From  home  and  country  roamed,  alone  to  die  ; 
Yet  one  consoler  cheered  his  latest  breath, 
And  smoothed  the  pathway  of  an  exile's  death ; 
The  tuneful  bird  in  boyhood's  breast  that  sang 
Still  charmed  to  silence  every  earthly  pang  ; 
E'en  in  that  vale  of  shadows  lone  and  drear, 
Herald  of  coming  joy,  yet  warbled  near  ; 
The  setting  sun,  before  his  waning  gaze, 
Upon  the  curtain  poured  his  crimson  rays, 
And  as  they  glowed,  then  quivered,  faded,  fled, 
Calmly  the  dying  poet  turm<l  Ins  h< -;ui  ; 


21 


"  And  such  is  life,"  he  whispered  in  the  ear 
Of  the  one  friend,  who  watchful  lingered  near, 
"  With  me  'tis  done ;  write  on  my  early  tomb 
My  name  was  writ  in  water,  flowers  bloom 
Over  my  ashes  —  death's  dew  is  on  my  brow  — 
My  heart  grows  still  —  and  yet  I  feel  them  now  ! ' 

Heroic  guide  !  whose  wings  are  never  furled, 
By  thee  Spain's  voyager  sought  another  world  ; 
What  but  poetic  impulse  could  sustain 
That  dauntless  pilgrim  on  the  dreary  main  ? 
Day  after  day  his  mariners  protest, 
And  gaze  with  dread  along  the  pathless  west ; 
Beyond  that  realm  of  waves  untracked  before, 
Thy  fairy  pencil  traced  the  promised  shore, 
Through  weary  storms  and  faction's  fiercer  rage, 
The  scoffs  of  ingrates  and  the  chills  of  age, 
Thy  voice  renewed  his  earnestness  of  aim, 
And  whispered  pledges  of  eternal  fame, 
Thy  cheering  smile  atoned  for  fortune's  frown, 
And  made  his  fetters  garlands  of  renown. 

Princes,  when  softened  in  thy  sweet  embrace, 
Yearn  for  no  conquest  but  the  realm  of  grace, 
And  thus  redeemed,  Lorenzo's  fair  domain 
Smiled  in  the  light  of  Art's  propitious  reign. 
Delightful  Florence  !  though  the  northern  gale 
Will  sometimes  rave  around  thy  lovely  vale, 


Can  I  forget  how  softly  Autumn  threw 

Beneath  thy  skies,  her  robes  of  ruddy  hue, 

Through  what  long  days  of  balminess  and  peace, 

From  wintry  bonds  Spring  won  thy  mild  release  ? 

Along  the  Arno  then  I  loved  lo  pass, 

And  watch  the  violets  peeping  from  the  grass, 

Mark  the  gray  kine  each  chestnut  grove  between, 

Startle  the  pheasants  on  the  lawny  green, 

Or  down  long  vistas  hail  the  mountain  snow, 

Like  lofty  shrines  the  purple  cloud  below. 

Within  thy  halls,  when  veiled  the  sunny  rays, 

Marvels  of  art  await  the  ardent  gaze, 

And  liquid  words  from  lips  of  beauty  start, 

With  social  joy  to  warm  the  stranger's  heart. 

How  beautiful,  at  moonlight's  hallowed  hour, 

Thy  graceful  bridges,  and  celestial  tower ! 

The  girdling  hills  enchanted  seem  to  hang 

Round  the  fair  scene  whence  modern  genius  sprang ; 

O'er  the  dark  ranges  of  thy  palace  walls 

The  silver  beam  on  dome  and  cornice  falls  ; 

The  statues  clustered  in  thy  ancient  square 

Lik<«  mighty  spirits  print  the  solemn  air, 

Silence  meets  beauty  with  unbroken  reign, 

Save  wli'-n  invaded  by  a  choral  strain, 

Whose  distant  cadence  falls  upon  the  ear, 

To  fill  the  bosom  with  poetic  cheer. 


23 


For  Fame  life's  meaner  records  vainly  strive, 
While,  in  fresh  beauty,  thy  high  dreams  survive  : 
Still  Vesta's  temple  throws  its  classic  shade 
O'er  the  bright  foam  of  Tivoli's  cascade, 
And  to  one  Venus  still  we  bow  the  knee, 
Divine  as  if  just  issued  from  the  sea  ; 
In  fancy's  trance,  yet  deem  on  nights  serene, 
We  hear  the  revels  of  the  fairy  queen, 
That  Dian's  smile  illumes  the  marble  fane, 
And  Ceres  whispers  in  the  rustling  grain, 
That  Ariel's  music  has  not  died  away, 
And  in  his  shell  still  floats  the  Culprit  Fay.7 
The  sacred  beings  of  poetic  birth 
Immortal  live  to  consecrate  the  earth. 
San  Marco's  pavement  boasts  no  Doge's  tread, 
And  all  its  ancient  pageantry  has  fled  ; 
Yet  as  we  muse  beneath  some  dim  arcade, 
The  mind's  true  kindred  glide  from  ruin's  shade  : 
In  every  passing  eye  that  sternly  beams, 
We  start  to  meet  the  Shylock  of  our  dreams  ; 
Each  maiden  form,  where  virgin  grace  is  seen, 
Crosses  our  path  with  Portia's  noble  mien, 
While  Desdemona,  beauteous  as  of  yore, 
Yields  us  the  smile  that  once  entranced  the  Moor. 
How  Scotland's  vales  are  peopled  to  the  heart 
By  her  bold  minstrel's  necromantic  art! 


Along  this  fern  moved  Jeannie's  patient  feet, 
Where  hangs  yon  mist,  rose  Ellangowan's  seat, 
Here  the  sad  bride  first  gave  her  love  a  tongue, 
And  there  the  chiefs  last  shout  of  triumph  rung  ; 
Beside  each  stream,  down  every  glen  they  throng, 
The  cherished  offspring  of  creative  song ! 
Long  ere  brave  Nelson  shook  the  Baltic  shore, 
The  bard  of  Avon  hallowed  Elsinore  : 
Perchance  when  moored  the  fleet,  awaiting  day, 
To  fix  the  battle's  terrible  array, 
Some  pensive  hero,  musing  o'er  the  deep, 
So  soon  to  fold  him  in  its  dreamless  sleep, 
Heard  the  Dane's  sad  and  self-communing  tone 
Blend  with  the  water's  melancholy  moan, 
Recalled,  with  prayer  and  awe-suspended  breath, 
His  wild  and  solemn  questionings  of  death, 
Or  caught  from  land  Ophelia's  dying  song 
Swept  by  the  night-breeze  plaintively  along ! 

What  charms  on  motion  can  thy  grace  bestow, 
To  sway  the  willow  or  to  wreath  the  snow, 
Bow  tin-  ripe  maize  like  golden  spears  that  fall, 
With  one  accord  to  greet  their  leader's  call, 
Twirl  the  red  leaf  in  circles  through  the  air, 
Or  guide  the  torrent  to  its  foaming  lair: 
E'en  the  rude  billows,  wafted  by  thy  hand, 
With  sweep  majestic  break  along  the  strand, 


And  downy  clouds  that  cluster  in  the  west, 
Seem  winged  with  hope  like  spirits  of  the  blest. 
Thine  is  the  spell  that  quickens  buoyant  feet, 
In  the  gay  onset  and  the  coy  retreat, 
Through  fairy  mazes  that  bewitch  the  sight, 
And  sprightly  rounds  prolific  of  delight, 
Till  the  blithe  magic  every  sense  entrance, 
And  lead  us  captives  to  the  joyous  dance. 

And  Love,  that,  like  the  lily,  meekly  rears 
Her  vernal  joy  above  the  flood  of  years, 
Flits  round  our  path  till  shadowed  by  the  grave, 
As  ocean-birds  skim  o'er  the  gloomy  wave, 
How  rich  her  gifts,  how  seraph-like  her  guise, 
When  on  poetic  wing  she  nobly  flies  ! 
Then,  in  the  virgin  brow,  we  joy  to  find 
A  lovely  emblem  of  congenial  mind, 
Hail  feeling  in  the  dimpling  lips  that  part 
To  free  the  beatings  of  the  quickened  heart, 
While  each  kind  word  that  from  them  softly  falls, 
Thrills  every  pulse  as  when  a  trumpet  calls ; 
Or  meet  the  eye,  affection's  beaming  goal, 
To  feel  the  presence  of  congenial  soul, 
Caress  each  ringlet  of  the  flowing  hair, 
As  it  were  charmed  to  lure  us  from  despair, 
And  round  a  human  idol  trembling  throw 
All  the  fond  hopes  on  which  we  live  below  ! 


Nor  time,  nor  care,  nor  death  have  power  to  tame 
Our  votive  trust,  or  dim  the  quenchless  flame. 
Cheered  by  its  light,  the  Tuscan  muse  defied 
Exile  and  hardship,  courtly  pomp  and  pride, 
Through  the  cold  mists  neglect  around  him  threw, 
And  storms  of  hate  that  o'er  him  fiercely  blew, 
A  presence  saw,  the  brooding  clouds  above, 
The  changeless  presage  of  eternal  love  ! 
And  that  pale  face,  bowed  on  the  open  leaf, 
Whence  its  bland  air  of  subjugated  grief?  8 
Methinks  'tis  strange  that  death  should  gently  steal, 
And,  like  a  slumber,  life's  warm  fountain  seal, 
Just  as  its  last  clear  droppings  shrunk  away 
To  their  clear  well-spring,  from  the  light  of  day ; 
Thus  Laura's  bard  in  peaceful  musing  died, 
A  life  poetic  closed,  by  love  beatified. 

On  Judah's  hills  thy  effluence  hovered  nigh, 
As  Bethlehem's  star  wheeled  up  the  tranquil  sky, 
And  holy  grew  where  on  his  sinless  breast, 
A  Saviour  bade  the  head  of  childhood  rest. 
Spirit  of  faith !  to  whose  pure  source  we  turn, 
When  hopes  divine  with  holiest  rapture  burn, 
Can  reason  follow  thy  seraphic  feet 
Beyond  the  world,  to  God's  eternal  seat  ? 
Dear  as  thy  promise  is,  O  what  wcrt  thou,^ 
Could  we  not  image  thy  memorials  now, 


And  in  exalted  mood  delight  to  trace 
The  unseen  glories  of  thy  dwelling-place  ? 

Consoling  spirit !  Eden's  peerless  bird  ! 
Thy  melody  to  loftiest  musing  stirred 
The  sightless  minstrel,  and  thy  sacred  spell 
Brought  peace  to  Cowper,  gladdened  Tasso's  cell, 
Attuned  the  harp  of  Burns  to  strains  which  bear 
No  transient  rapture  to  the  sons  of  care, 
Cheered  the  brave  Korner  through  that  weary  night 
Whose  dreams  presaged  the  issue  of  the  fight, 
Scott's  votive  steps  allured  to  Melrose  gray, 
Whose  pensive  beauty  woke  his  noble  lay, 
From  sorrow's  thrall  gave  Hemans  sweet  release, 
And  Byron  armed  to  war  for  conquered  Greece, 
Forever  green  bade  Goldsmith's  hawthorn  wave,9 
And  wreathed  the  surge  o'er  Shelley's  ocean-grave  ! 

And  some  upon  our  free  Atlantic  shore, 
Eedeeming  spirit,  thy  domain  explore, 
In  deathless  marble  lines  of  beauty  trace, 
Or  weave  in  language  images  of  grace  ; 
Like  Allston,  silent  poetry  infuse 
Through  speaking  forms,  and  more  than  living  hues  ; 
With  Irving's  diction  noble  thoughts  prolong, 
Or  follow  Bryant  through  the  maze  of  song. 

Celestial  gift !  whene'er  entranced  we  feel 
Thy  sacred  rapture  o'er  our  spirits  steal, 


From  morn's  rich  beauty,  evening's  sweet  repose, 
Thr  gleam  of  dew,  or  bloom  of  vernal  rose  ; 
Whether  thy  greeting  come  in  music  rare, 
Or  on  the  balm  that  scents  the  summer  air, 
Speak  in  the  artist's  touch,  the  minstrel's  tone, 
Or  in  the  poet's  thought  —  thy  secret  throne, 
Lurk  in  the  grove,  or  cloud's  refulgent  dress, 
The  ocean's  roar,  or  zephyrs'  soft  caress  ; 
Whether  thy  smile  illume  the  midnight  sky, 
Or,  all  concentered,  beam  from  woman's  eye, 
Thou  art  the  chosen  herald  from  above, 
And  thy  eternal  message  —  God  is  Love. 


NOTES. 


NOTE  1.     Page  5. 

The  poor  forgiven  one  with  golden  hair, 
Gemmed  with  the  dcwdrops  of  subdued  despair. 
The  Magdalens  of  the  old  masters  are  almost  invariably  repre- 
sented with  light-colored  tresses  —  "brown  in  the  shadow,  and  gold 
in  the  sun." 

NOTE  2.    Page  7. 

And  wove  a  charm  for  Mary's  captive  days. 
The  captivity  of  the  unfortunate  Queen  of  Scots  was  often  be- 
guiled by  her  lute. 

NOTE  3.     Page  7. 

Love's  true  expression  caught  from  young  Mozart ', 
And  drove  Death's  shadow  from  his  trembling  heart. 
One  of  Mozart's  finest  compositions  was  inspired  by  his  love  for 

Constance  Weber.    The  circumstances  under  which  his  celebrated 

Requiem  were  written,  are  well  known. 

NOTE  4.    Page  10. 
And  feel  our  lives  are  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  of,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

TEMPEST,  Act  iv.,  Sc.  1. 


30 


NOTE  5.     Page  18. 

But  milder  suffering,  more  enduring  wo 
That,  like  Tophana's  waters,  poison  slow. 

Tophana  flourished  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
She  prepared  a  delicate  compound  of  arsenic,  which  entered  freely 
into  commerce,  and  was  known  under  the  name  of  acqua  delta 
Tofana. 

NOTE  6.    Page  19. 

Pause  at  this  threshold ;  shade  thy  weary  eye, 
Sated  with  light  from  Rome's  cerulean  sky. 

See  MILNE'S  LIFE  OF  KEATS. 


NOTE  7.     Page  23. 
And  in  his  shell  still  floats  the  Culprit  Fay. 

See  Drake's  Poem,  "  THE  CULPRIT  FAY." 

NOTE  3.     Page  26. 

And  that  paleface  bowed  on  the  open  leaf, 
Whence  its  bland  air  of  subjugated  grief  ? 

Petrarch  was  found  dead  in  his  library,  apparently  asleep — his 
head  resting  on  an  open  book. 

NOTE  9.    Page  27. 

Forever  green,  bade  Goldsmith's  hawthorn  wave. 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seals  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made. 

THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE. 


THE   APOLLO   BELVIDERE. 


There  is  a  tradition  at  Rome,  that  an  imaginative  French  girl  died  of  love 
for  this  celebrated  statue. 


IT  was  a  day  of  festival  in  Rome, 
And  to  the  splendid  temple  of  her  saint, 
Many  a  brilliant  equipage  swept  on  ; 
Brave  cavaliers  reined  their  impetuous  steeds, 
While  dark-robed  priests  and  bright-eyed  peasants 

strolled, 

Through  groups  of  citizens,  in  gay  attire. 
The  suppliant  moan  of  the  blind  mendicant, 
Blent  with  the  huckster's  cry,  the  urchin's  shout, 
The  clash  of  harness,  and  the  festive  cheer. 
Beneath  the  colonnade  ranged  the  Swiss  guards, 
With  polished  halberds  —  an  anomaly, 
Of  mountain  lineage,  and  yet  hirelings ! 
In  the  midst  rose  the  majestic  obelisk, 
Quarried  in  Egypt,  centuries  by-gone  ; 
And,  on  either  side,  gushed  up  refreshingly 


The  lofty  fountains,  flashing  in  the  sun, 

And  breathing,  o'er  the  din,  a  whisper  soft, 

Yet  finely  musical  as  childhood's  laugh. 

Here  a  stranger  stood  in  mute  observance  ; 

There  an  artist  leaned,  and  pleased  his  eye 

With  all  the  features  of  the  shifting  scene, 

Striving  to  catch  its  varying  light  and  shade  — 

The  mingled  tints  of  brilliancy  and  gloom. 

Through  the  dense  crowd  a  lovely  maiden  pressed 

With  a  calm  brow,  an  eagerness  of  air, 

And  an  eye  exultant  with  high  purpose. 

The  idle  courtier  checked  his  ready  jest, 

And  backward  stepped  in  reverence,  as  she  passed ; 

The  friar  turned  and  blessed  her  fervently, 

Reading  the  joy  in  her  deep  look  of  love, 

That  visits  pilgrims  when  their  shrine  is  won. 

To  the  rich  chambers  of  the  Vatican 

She  hurried  thoughtfully,  nor  turned  to  muse 

Upon  the  many  glories  clustered  there. 

There  are  rooms  whose  walls  are  radiant  still 

With  the  creations  of  the  early  dead  — 

Raphael,  the  gifted  and  the  beautiful ; 

Fit  places  those  for  sweet  imaginings 

And  spirit-stirring  dreams.     She  entered  not. 

Gems  of  rare  hues  and  cunning  workmanship. 

Ancient  sarcophagi,  heroic  forms, 


33 


Busts  of  the  mighty  conquerors  of  time, 

Stirred  not  a  pulse  in  that  fond  maiden's  heart ; 

She  staid  not  to  peruse  the  classic  face 

Of  young  Augustus,  nor  lingered  to  discern 

Benignity  in  Trajan's  countenance  ; 

But  sped,  with  fawn-like  and  familiar  step, 

On  to  the  threshold  of  a  cabinet ; 

And  then  her  eye  grew  brighter,  and  a  flush 

Suffused  her  cheek,  as,  awe-subdued,  she  paused, 

And,  throwing  back  the  ringlets  from  her  brow, 

With  a  light  bound  and  rapturous  murmur,  stood 

Before  the  statue  of  the  Grecian  god : 

u  They  tell  me  thou  art  stone, 

Stern,  passionless,  and  chill, 
Dead  to  the  glow  of  noble  thought, 

And  feeling's  holy  thrill ; 
They  deem  thee  but  a  marble  god, 

The  paragon  of  art, 
A  thing  to  charm  the  sage's  eye, 

But  not  to  win  the  heart. 

u  Vain  as  their  own  light  vows, 
And  soulless  as  their  gaze, 
The  thought  of  quenching  my  deep  love 
By  such  ignoble  praise  ! 
3 


34 

I  know  that  through  thy  parted  lips 

Language  disdains  to  roll, 
While  on  them  rest  so  gloriously 

The  beamings  of  the  soul. 

"  I  dreamed,  but  yesternight, 

That,  gazing,  e'en  as  now, 
Rapt  in  a  wild,  admiring  joy, 

On  thy  majestic  brow  — 
That  thy  strong  arm  was  round  me  flung, 

And  drew  me  to  thy  side, 
While  thy  proud  lip  uncurled  in  love, 

And  hailed  me  as  a  bride. 

"  And  then,  methought,  we  sped, 

Like  thine  own  arrow,  high, 
Through  fields  of  azure,  orbs  of  light, 

Amid  the  boundless  sky  : 
Our  way  seemed  walled  with  radiant  gems, 

As  fell  the  starry  gleams, 
And  the  floating  isles  of  pearly  drops 

Gave  back  their  silver  beams. 

u  Sphere-music,  too,  stole  by 

In  tin-  iV;iLrraiit  y.rphyr's  play, 
And  the  hum  of  worlds  boomed  solemnly 
Across  our  trackless  way  : 


35 

Upon  my  cheek  the  wanton  breeze 
Thy  glowing  tresses  flung  ; 

Like  loving  tendrils,  round  my  neck, 
A  golden  band  they  clung. 

"  Methought  thou  didst  impart 

The  mysteries  of  earth, 
And  whisper  lovingly  the  tale 

Of  thy  celestial  birth  : 
O'er  Poetry's  sublimest  heights 

Exultingly  we  trod  ; 
Thy  words  were  music  —  uttering 

The  genius  of  a  god ! 

"  Proud  one  !  'twas  but  a  dream  ; 

For  here  again  thou  art, 
Thy  marble  bosom  heeding  not 

My  passion-stricken  heart. 
O,  turn  that  rapturous  look  on  me, 

And  heave  a  single  sigh  — 
Give  but  a  glance,  breathe  but  a  tone, 

One  word  were  ecstasy ! 

"  Still  mute  ?     Then  must  I  yield  : 
This  fire  will  scathe  my  breast ; 
This  weary  heart  will  throb  itself 
To  an  eternal  rest. 


36 


Yrt  still  my  soul  claims  fellowship 

With  the  exalted  grace, 
The  hright  and  thrilling  earnestness, 

The  godlike  in  thy  face. 

"  Thou  wilt  relent  at  last, 

And  turn  thy  love-lit  eye 
In  pity  on  me,  noble  one  ! 

To  bless  me  ere  I  die. 
And  now,  farewell,  my  vine-clad  home, 

Farewell,  immortal  youth ! 
Let  me  behold  thee  when  Love  calls 

The  martyr  to  her  truth  !  " 


MARY. 

WHAT  though  the  name  is  old  and  oft  repeated, 

What  though  a  thousand  beings  bear  it  now ; 
And  true  hearts  oft  the  gentle  word  have  greeted,- 

What  though  'tis  hallowed  by  a  poet's  vow  ? 
We  ever  love  the  rose,  and  yet  its  blooming 

Is  a  familiar  rapture  to  the  eye, 
And  yon  bright  star  we  hail,  although  its  looming 

Age  after  age  has  lit  the  northern  sky. 


As  starry  beams  o'er  troubled  billows  stealing, 

As  garden  odors  to  the  desert  blown, 
In  bosoms  faint  a  gladsome  hope  revealing, 

Like  patriot  music  or  affection's  tone  — 
Thus,  thus  for  aye,  the  name  of  Mary  spoken 

By  lips  or  text,  with  magic-like  control, 
The  course  of  present  thought  has  quickly  broken, 

And  stirred  the  fountains  of  my  inmost  soul. 


38 


Tin   sweetest  talcs  of  human  weal  and  sorrow, 

The  fairest  trophies  of  the  limner's  fame, 
To  my  fond  fancy,  Mary,  seem  to  borrow 

Celestial  halos  from  thy  gentle  name : 
The  Grecian  artist  gleaned  from  many  faces, 

And  in  a  perfect  whole  the  parts  combined, 
So  have  I  counted  o'er  dear  woman's  graces 

To  form  the  Mary  of  my  ardent  mind. 

And  marvel  not  I  thus  call  my  ideal, 

We  inly  paint  as  we  would  have  things  be, 
The  fanciful  springs  ever  from  the  real, 

As  Aphrodite  rose  from  out  the  sea ; 
Who  smiled  upon  me  kindly  day  by  day, 

In  a  far  land  where  I  was  sad  and  lone  ? 
Whose  presence  now  is  my  delight  alway  ? 

Both  angels  must  the  same  blessed  title  own. 

What  spirits  round  my  weary  way  are  flying, 

What  fortunes  on  my  future  life  await. 
Like  the  mysterious  hymns  the  winds  are  sighing, 

Are  all  unknown,  —  in  trust  I  bide  my  fate  ; 
But  if  one  blessing  I  might  crave  from  Heaven, 

'T  would  be  that  Mary  should  my  being  cheer, 
I  IaiiLr  "'•  "'ii  the  dh.nl  nf  life  is  riven, 

Be  my  dear  household  word,  ami  my  last  accent  here. 


NORTHAMPTON. 

ERE  from  thy  calm  seclusion  parted, 

O  fairest  village  of  the  plain ! 
The  thoughts  that  here  to  life  have  started 

Draw  me  to  Nature's  heart  again. 

The  tasseled  maize,  full  grain  or  clover, 
Far  o'er  the  level  meadow  grows, 

And  through  it,  like  a  wayward  rover, 
The  noble  river  gently  flows. 

Majestic  elms,  with  trunks  unshaken 
By  all  the  storms  an  age  can  bring, 

Trail  sprays  whose  rest  the  zephyrs  waken, 
Yet  lithesome  with  the  juice  of  spring. 

By  sportive  airs  the  foliage  lifted, 

Each  green  leaf  shows  its  white  below, 

As  foam  on  emerald  waves  is  drifted, 
Their  tints  alternate  come  and  go. 


40 


And  then  the  skies  !  when  vapors  cluster 
From  zenith  to  horizon's  verge, 

As  wild  gusts  ominously  bluster, 

And  in  deep  shade  the  landscape  merge  ;  - 

Under  the  massive  cloud's  low  border, 
Where  hill-tops  with  the  sky  unite, 

Like  an  old  minster's  blazoned  warder, 
There  scintillates  an  amber  light : 

Sometimes  a  humid  fleece  reposes 
Midway  upon  the  swelling  ridge, 

Like  an  aerial  couch  of  roses, 
Or  fairy's  amethystine  bridge  : 

And  pale  green  inlets  lucid  shimmer, 
With  huge  cliffs  jutting  out  beside, 

Like  those  in  mountain  lakes  that  glimmer, 
Tinged  like  the  ocean's  crystal  tide : 

Or  saffron-tinted  islands  planted 

In  firmaments  of  azure  dye, 
With  pearly  mounds  that  loom  undaunted, 

And  float  like  icebergs  of  the  sky  : 


41 

Like  autumn  leaves  that  eddying  falter, 
Yet  settle  to  their  crimson  rest, 

As  pilgrims  round  their  burning  altar, 
They  slowly  gather  in  the  west. 

And  when  the  distant  mountain  ranges 
In  moonlight  or  blue  mist  or  clad, 

Oft  memory  all  the  landscape  changes, 
And  pensive  thoughts  are  blent  with  glad. 

For  then,  as  in  a  dream  Elysian, 
Val  d'Arno's  fair  and  loved  domain 

Seems,  to  my  rapt  yet  waking  vision, 
To  yield  familiar  charms  again. 

Save  that  for  dome  and  turret  hoary, 

Amid  the  central  valley  lies 
A  white  church-spire  unknown  to  story, 

And  smoke- wreaths  from  a  cottage  rise. 

On  Holyoke's  summit  woods  are  frowning, 

No  line  of  cypresses  we  see, 
Nor  convent  old  with  beauty  crowning 

The  heights  of  sweet  Fiesole. 


42 

Yrt  here  may  willing  eyes  discover 

The  art  ;m<l  life  of  every  shore, 
For  Nature  bids  her  patient  lover 

All  true  similitudes  explore. 

These  firs,  when  cease  their  boughs  to  quiver, 
Stand  like  pagodas  brahmins  seek, 

Yon  isle,  that  parts  the  winding  river, 
Seems  moulded  from  a  light  caique. 


And  ferns  that  in  these  groves  are  hidden, 
Are  sculptured  like  a  dainty  frieze, 

While  choral  music  steals  unbidden, 
As  undulates  the  forest  breeze. 

A  gothic  arch  and  springing  column, 
A  floral-dyed,  mosaic  ground, 

A  twilight  shade  and  vista  solemn, 
In  all  these  sylvan  haunts  are  found. 

And  now  this  fragile  garland  weaving 
Whilr  ebbs  the  musing  tide  away, 

As  one  a  sacred  temple  leaving, 

SMI  MI-  tribute  on  its  shrine  would  lay. 


43 


I  bless  the  scenes  whose  tranquil  beauty 
Have  cheered  me  like  the  sense  of  youth, 

And  freshened  lonely  tasks  of  duty, 
The  dream  of  love  and  zest  of  truth. 


LOVE   AND   FAME. 

GIVE  me  the  boon  of  love  ! 

I  ask  no  more  for  fame  ; 
Far  better  one  unpurchased  heart 

Than  glory's  proudest  name. 
Why  wake  a  fever  in  the  blood, 

Or  damp  the  spirit  now, 
To  gain  a  wreath  whose  leaves  shall  wave 

Above  a  withered  brow  ? 


Give  me  the  boon  of  love ! 

Ambition's  meed  is  vain  ; 
Dearer  affection's  earnest  smile 

Than  honor's  richest  train. 
I'd  rather  lean  upon  a  breast 

Responsive  to  my  own, 
Than  sit  pavilioned  gorgeously 

Upon  a  kingly 


45 

Like  the  Chaldean  sage, 

Fame's  worshippers  adore 
The  brilliant  orbs  that  scatter  light 

O'er  heaven's  azure  floor ; 
But,  in  their  very  heart  enshrined, 

The  votaries  of  love 
Keep  e'er  the  holy  flame,  which  once 

Illumed  the  courts  above. 

Give  me  the  boon  of  love  ! 

Renown  is  but  a  breath, 
Whose  loudest  echo  ever  floats 

From  out  the  halls  of  death. 
A  loving  eye  beguiles  me  more 

Than  fame's  emblazoned  seal, 
And  one  sweet  note  of  tenderness 

Than  triumph's  wildest  peal. 

Give  me  the  boon  of  love ! 

The  path  of  fame  is  drear, 
And  glory's  arch  doth  ever  span 

A  hill-side  cold  and  sere. 
One  wild  flower  from  the  path  of  love, 

All  lowly  though  it  lie, 
Is  dearer  than  the  wreath  that  waves 

To  stern  ambition's  eye. 


46 

Give  me  the  boon  of  love ! 

The  lamp  of  fame  shines  far, 
But  love's  soft  light  glows  near  and  warm  • 

A  pure  and  household  star. 
One  tender  glance  can  fill  the  soul 

With  a  perennial  fire  ; 
But  glory's  flame  burns  fitfully  — 

A  lone,  funereal  pyre. 


(Jive  me  the  boon  of  love  ! 

Fame's  trumpet-strains  depart, 
But  love's  sweet  lute  yields  melody 

That  lingers  in  the  heart ; 
And  the  scroll  of  fame  will  burn 

When  sea  and  earth  consume, 
But  the  rose  of  love  in  a  happier  sphere 

Will  live  in  deathless  bloom. 


NEWPORT    BEACH. 

THE  crested  line  of  waves  upheaving  slow, 
Like  white-plumed  squadrons  in  compact  array, 
Moving  to  launch  their  thunder  on  the  foe, 
Each  gathering  in,  with  hushed  yet  ardent  will, 
Its  strength  of  purpose  ere  the  war-cloud  burst,  - 
And  with  accumulate  energy  press  on 
Their  foamy  ridges,  to  dissolve  at  last, 
Like  passion's  billows,  into  gushing  tears, 
Or,  with  an  inarticulate  moan,  expire. 

Wave  after  wave  successively  rolls  on 
And  dies  along  the  shore,  until  more  loud 
One  billow  with  concentrate  force  is  heard 
To  swell  prophetic,  and  exultant  rears 
A  lucent  form  above  its  pioneers, 
And  rushes  past  them  to  the  farthest  goal. 
Thus  our  unuttered  feelings  rise  and  fall, 
And  thought  will  follow  thought  in  equal  waves, 


48 


Until  reflection  nerves  design  to  will, 
Or  sentiment  o'er  chance  emotion  reigns, 
And  all  its  wayward  undulations  blends 
In  one  o'erwhelming  surge  ! 

In  meditation's  hour,  these  waves  recede, 
And  then  appear  the  relics  of  the  soul  — 
Trophies  long  cherished,  fragments  of  wrecked  hopes, 
That,  freshened  by  the  dew  of  memory,  gleam 
Like  a  mosaic  pavement,  whose  dim  hues 
And  worn  inscriptions  suddenly  grow  clear 
Beneath  reviving  moisture  :  purple  shells 
And  gay  weeds  fleck  the  strand,  like  garlands  torn 
By  fierce  ambition  from  the  rocks  of  Time, 
To  drift  unheeded  down  oblivion's  main ; 
And  mystic  characters  indent  the  sands 
Frail  as  the  records  that  men  love  to  trace, 
With  the  approaching  tide  to  pass  away. 

Like  the  sea,  too,  our  being  ebbs  and  flows 
From  fountains  unexplored  of  inward  life 
To  the  world's  sterile  coast,  with  n-stlrss  dash 
( 'haling  its  bound  ;  then  mournfully  sweeps  back 
To  lapse  in  earnest  consciousness  again. 
F«»r  what  to  thee,  O  thoughtful  soul,  imports 
The  monotone  of  apathetic  days, 


49 


Save  as  the  prelude  to  a  higher  strain, 

In  which  the  symphony  of  truth  shall  blend 

With  love's  celestial  anthem  ?     Far  apart 

From  the  insensate  crowd  thy  real  life, 

Like  the  deep  under-current  of  the  sea, 

Resistless  and  invisible  flows  on : 

O,  for  a  human  ear  attuned  to  catch 

Its  muffled  voice,  or  gently  beaming  eyes 

To  pierce,  with  keen  regard,  the  playful  wave, 

And  watch  its  hidden  course ! 


After  each  tempest,  both  of  mind  and  sea, 
Cometh  tranquillity  ;  then  rosy  hues 
Flush  the  horizon  with  a  glow  that  warms 
The  sleeping  flood  like  Hope's  blest  reverie, 
And  the  low  ripples,  with  their  soothing  plash, 
Lave  the  gay-tinted  pebbles  till  they  shine 
Like  precious  jewels  in  the  sunset  fire  ; 
And  the  wan  moon  her  slender  crescent  shows. 
A  diadem  benign,  serenely  high, 
While  the  lulled  wave  as  gently  heaves  below 
As  the  fair  bosom  where  is  treasured  up 
Our  heart's  best  life,  and  its  pellucid  depths 
Reflect  the  firmament  as  truthful  eyes 
With  crystal  softness  mirror  love's  pure  gaze. 
4 


50 


What  pristine  vigor  braces  the  glad  frame 
That  dallies  with  the  breakers,  meets  the  surge, 
And  feels  the  sportive  tossing  of  the  brine  ! 
As  in  the  world's  antagonistic  sphere 
We  wrestle  and  grow  calm,  the  vague  unrest 
That  haunts  impulsive  natures,  yields  awhile 
To  the  encircling  presence  of  the  sea, 
Inviting  thought  to  an  excursive  range, 
And,  with  its  plaintive  or  impetuous  roar, 
Stilling  the  tumult  of  the  eager  heart. 

The  antique  genius  shaped  a  noble  truth, 
In  moulding  Aphrodite  as  she  stands 
Prepared  to  yield  her  beauty  to  the  sea : 
A  winsome  coyness,  half  made  up  of  fear 
And  half  of  love,  betrays  itself  in  grace  : 
With  eyes  averted  from  the  tempting  flood, 
She  grasps  her  loosened  hair,  and  as  the  wave 
Strikes  her  pale  feet,  a  swift  recoil 
Checks  the  advancing  step,  and  thus  she  broods, 
A  lovely  image  of  subdued  desire, 
Action  and  thought,  that  quiver  and  unite 
In  exquisite  proportion  ;  thus  we  pa 
Upon  the  brink  of  glory  unachieved, 
Or  sacrifice  resolved  —  our  hearts  appalled 
By  the  chill  touch  and  <livar  infinitude 
Of  Fate's  relentless  tide. 


51 


Thy  breath,  majestic  sea,  was  native  air, 
And  thy  cool  spray,  like  Nature's  baptism,  fell 
Upon  my  brow,  while  thy  hoarse  summons  called 
My  childhood's  fancy  into  wonder's  realm. 
Thy  boundless  azure  in  youth's  landscape  shone 
Like  a  vast  talisman,  that  oft  awoke 
Visions  of  distant  climes,  from  weary  round 
Of  irksome  life  to  set  my  spirit  free ; 
And  hence  whene'er  I  greet  thy  face  anew, 
Familiar  tenderness  and  awe  return 
At  the  wild  conjuration  ;  —  fondest  hopes, 
And  penitential  tears  and  high  resolves 
Are  born  of  musing  by  the  solemn  deep. 

Then  here,  enfranchised  by  the  voice  of  God, 
O,  ponder  not,  with  microscopic  eye, 
What  is  adjacent,  limited  and  fixed ; 
But  with  high  faith  gaze  forth,  and  let  thy  thought 
With  the  illimitable  scene  expand, 
Until  the  bond  of  circumstance  is  rent, 
And  personal  griefs  are  lost  in  visions  wide 
Of  an  eternal  future  !     Far  away 
Where  looms  yon  sail,  that,  like  a  curlew's  wing. 
Prints  the  gray  sky,  are  moored  enchanted  isles 
Of  unimagined  beauty,  with  soft  airs 
And  luscious  fruitage,  and  unclouded  stars ; 


52 


Where  every  breeze  wafts  music,  every  path 
By  flowers  o'crhung,  leads  to  a  home  of  love, 
And  every  life  is  glorified  with  dreams : 
And  thus  beyond  thy  present  destiny, 
Beyond  the  inlet  where  the  waves  of  Time 
Fret  at  their  barren  marge,  there  spreads  a  sea 
More  free  and  tranquil,  where  the  isles  of  peace 
Shall  yield  thy  highest  aspiration  scope, 
And  every  sympathy  response  divine. 


THE   VESTAL. 

A    CANADIAN    LEGEND. 

[A  young  Chevalier,  one  of  the  gallants  of  the  Court  of  Louis  XIV.,  who,  oue 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  sought  glory  under  the  banners  of  Frontignac,  in 
the  wilds  of  America,  is  said,  by  Canadian  tradition,  to  have  been  tenderly 
attached  to  a  noble  orphan,  already  destined  by  her  friends  and  her  own  pious 
resolution,  to  take  the  veil  in  the  Convent  of  Montreal.  Tradition  also  says, 
that,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  heart,  she  permitted  her  lover  to  indulge  her  in 
one  afternoon's  excursion  on  Lake  Champlain,  ere  she  entered  the  cloister.] 

I. 

IN  Life's  divine  and  wondrous  song, 

Youth's  invocation  swells 
To  Manhood's  warfare  fierce  and  vain, 

Which  Age  serenely  tells  ; 
Yet  blissful  moments  intervene, 

Where  Eden's  glory  dwells. 

n. 

And  these  the  bard  should  ever  strive, 
By  numbers  sweet  and  terse, 


51 

To  consecrate  for  other  souls 

In  his  melodious  verse  ; 
Then  list,  while  I,  with  humble  zeal, 

One  episode  rehearse. 

in. 
Two  pilgrims  —  Nature's  offspring  brave, 

Had  roamed  the  world  apart, 
And  mingled  gently  with  their  kind, 

Companionless  in  heart, 
With  longings  for  the  unattained, 

In  home,  and  church,  and  mart. 

IV. 

The  Autumn  noon  in  golden  warmth, 
Lay  bright  on  hill  and  streams, 

And  round  them,  like  a  halo,  threw 
Its  clear  and  mellow  beams, 

Until  their  spirits  seemed  to  breathe 
The  atmosphere  of  dreams. 

v. 

Tli<  -11  from  between  his  voice  and  mind, 

Passrd  oil"  the-  chilling  sprll, 
In  that  mil<l  hour's  kind  embrace, 
He  drirrd  his  love  to  tell  ; 


55 

And  trembling  words  grew  softly  bold. 
As  from  his  lips  they  fell. 

VI. 

There  flitted  o'er  her  angel  face 
A  shade  of  meek  surprise, 

And  yet  the  hand  was  not  withdrawn, 
Nor  turned  aside  the  eyes ; 

He  felt  assurance  blest  and  true 
Within  his  bosom  rise. 


She  looked  upon  the  yellow  maize, 
With  thoughtfulness  awhile, 

Glanced  upward  to  the  peaceful  sky, 
Then  bent  on  him  a  smile, 

Whose  mournful  beauty  evermore 
Kemembrance  will  beguile. 

V1I1. 

"  As  thou  dost  love  me,1'  — every  word 
Was  stamped  upon  his  brain  — 

"  As  thou  dost  love  me,  O  speak  not 

Upon  this  theme  again  ! 
Unless  thou  wouldst  complacently 
Inflict  a  needless  pain. 


56 

I  \. 

"  And  look  not  with  that  tender  gaze 

So  eloquently  fond, 
N.M  murmur  those  devoted  tones, 

For  on  me  there's  a  bond, — 
A  patient  vestal  here  I  wait, 
And  only  hope  beyond ! 

x. 

••  My  p;ith  lies  up  the  lonely  steep, 

O  tempt  me  not  below  ! 
Where  herbage,  air,  and  sunshine  meet 

In  one  transporting  glow, 
And  Life's  meandering  waters  yield 

Wild  music  as  they  flow. 

XI. 

M  ^  «  t  bitter  days,  methinks,  have  earned 

A  right  to  pluck  with  tears, 
Tin    ilnurr  that  my  rugged  way 

With  God's  own  promise  cheers ; 
Ami  1  will  live  OIK'  hour  with  ihee, 
To  soothe  my  coming  years. 

XII. 

"And  if  there  be  a  future  home, 
As  saintly  hearts  heli 


57 


Where  kindred  souls  with  Freedom  crowned, 

Earth's  destinies  retrieve, 
By  the  delight  that  fills  us  now, 

Thou  shalt  my  troth  receive  ! 

XIII. 

'Then  pledge  me  by  thine  eyes  of  truth, 

And  brow  so  nobly  fair, 
That,  having  at  the  fountain  drank, 

Thou  wilt  not  linger  there, 
But  henceforth  silent  hasten  through 

This  valley  of  despair  !  " 

XIV. 

Far  down  upon  the  tufted  shore, 

A  silver  inlet  lay, 
That  winds  capriciously  along 

Until  it  meets  the  bay, 
And  o'er  it  flocks  of  blackbirds  scream, 

And  sedges  wave  alway. 

xv. 
He  led  her  to  a  fragile  barque 

That  floated  on  the  tide, 
With  the  same  hushed  and  fearful  bliss 

That  to  the  altar-side, 


58 

When  priest  and  kindred  round  it  stand, 
A  lover  Irads  his  bride. 

xvi. 
They  nestled  in  the  open  stern, 

The  moorings  off  he  cast, 
And  as  the  green,  impending  hills 

Seemed  drifting  slowly  past, 
They  felt  the  rapture  of  a  mood 

Too  heavenly  to  last. 

XVII. 

Her  head  upon  his  bosom  fell, 

Their  pulses  beat  in  time, 
The  balance  of  their  restless  hearts, 

Like  some  exultant  chime, 
Then  won  from  Earth's  discordant  tones, 

An  interlude  sublime. 

XVIII. 

Now  Sympathy's  transcendent  grace, 

Its  latent  worth  reveals, 
He  whispered  thoughts  whose  lofty  scope 

Truth's  inmost  fount  unseals  ; 
She  brcuthrd  the  music  un wares 

That  Hope  from  Memory  steals. 


59 

XIX. 

The  lilies  bowed  their  snowy  cups 

As  sped  the  light  wind  by, 
The  scarlet  maples  flushed  around, 

And  pine-boughs  quivered  nigh, 
While  fleecy  clouds  like  sapphire  blazed 

Athwart  the  evening  sky. 

xx. 

Their  touch,  like  an  enchanter's  wand, 
Each  thrilled  with  glad  alarm, 

Their  lips  were  rosy  chalices 
Yielding  delicious  balm, 

And  their  pure  eyes  grew  deep  and  still, 
With  Love's  immortal  calm. 

XXI. 

And  as  from  chaos  random  stars 

Into  their  orbits  roll, 
Or  weary  eagles  homeward  sweep, 

And  flutter  to  their  goal, 
They  felt  a  holy  impulse  blend 

The  senses  and  the  soul. 


Years  have  gone  by ;  those  pilgrims  now 
Life's  colder  rules  obey, 


60 

Tin -i ico forth  they  met  as  strangers  meet, 

But  from  that  Autumn  day, 
The  thirst  of  their  divided  hearts 

Has  never  passed  away. 


WASHINGTON'S    STATUE. 

THE  quarry  whence  thy  form  majestic  sprung 

Has  peopled  earth  with  grace, 
Heroes  and  gods  that  elder  bards  have  sung, 

A  bright  and  peerless  race ; 
But  from  its  sleeping  veins  ne'er  rose  before 

A  shape  of  loftier  name 
Than  his,  who  Glory's  wreath  with  meekness  wore, 

The  noblest  son  of  Fame. 
Sheathed  is  the  sword  that  Passion  never  stained ; 

His  gaze  around  is  cast, 
As  if  the  joys  of  Freedom,  newly  gained, 

Before  his  vision  passed ; 
As  if  a  nation's  shout  of  love  and  pride 

With  music  filled  the  air, 
And  his  calm  soul  was  lifted  on  the  tide 

Of  deep  and  grateful  prayer ; 
As  if  the  crystal  mirror  of  his  life 

To  fancy  sweetly  came, 
With  scenes  of  patient  toil  and  noble  strife, 

Undimmed  by  doubt  or  shame ; 


As  if  the  lofty  purpose  of  his  soul 

Expression  would  betray  — 
The  high  resolve  Ambition  to  control, 

And  trust  her  crown  away  ! 
O,  it  was  well  in  marble  firm  and  white 

To  carve  our  hero's  form, 
Whose  angel  guidance  was  our  strength  in  fight, 

Our  star  amid  the  storm  ! 
Whose  matchless  truth  has  made  his  name  divine, 

And  human  freedom  sure, 
His  country  great,  his  tomb  earth's  dearest  shrine, 

While  man  and  time  endure ! 
And  it  is  well  to  place  his  image  there, 

Upon  the  soil  he  blest ; 
Let  meaner  spirits,  who  its  councils  share, 

Revere  that  silent  guest ! 
Let  us  go  up  with  high  and  sacred  love 

To  look  on  his  pure  brow, 
And  as,  with  solemn  grace,  he  points  above, 

Renew  the  patriot's  vow  ! 


TO  AN  ELM. 

BRAVELY  thy  old  arms  fling 
Their  countless  pennons  to  the  fields  of  air, 

And,  like  a  sylvan  king, 
Their  panoply  of  green  still  proudly  wear. 

As  some  rude  tower  of  old, 
Thy  massive  trunk  still  rears  its  rugged  form, 

With  limbs  of  giant  mould, 
To  battle  sternly  with  the  winter's  storm. 

In  Nature's  mighty  fane, 
Thou  art  the  noblest  arch  beneath  the  sky  ; 

How  long  the  pilgrim  train 
That  with  a  benison  have  passed  thee  by ! 

Lone  patriarch  of  the  wood  ! 
Like  a  true  spirit  thou  dost  freely  rise, 

Of  fresh  and  dauntless  mood, 
Spreading  thy  branches  to  the  open  skies. 


64 


The  locust  knows  thee  well, 
And  when  the  summer  days  his  notes  prolong, 

Hid  in  some  leafy  cell, 
Pours  from  thy  world  of  green  his  drowsy  song. 


Oft,  on  a  morn  in  spring, 
The  yellow-bird  will  seek  thy  waving  spray, 

And  there  securely  swing, 
To  whet  his  beak,  and  pour  his  blithsome  lay. 


How  bursts  thy  monarch  wail, 
When  sleeps  the  pulse  of  Nature's  buoyant  life, 

And,  bared  to  meet  the  gale, 
Wave  thy  old  branches,  eager  for  the  strife  ! 

The  sunset  often  weaves 
Upon  thy  crest  a  wreath  of  splendor  rare, 

While  the  fresh  murmuring  leaves 
Fill  with  cool  sound  the  evening's  sultry  air. 

Sacred  thy  roof  of  green 
To  rustic  dance,  and  dnlilli<M)<rs  gambols  free, 

Gay  youth  and  age  serene 
Turn  with  familiar  gladness  unto  tii- 


65 


O,  hither  should  we  roam, 
To  hear  Truth's  herald  in  the  lofty  shade ; 

Beneath  thy  emerald  dome 
Might  Freedom's  champion  fitly  draw  his  blade. 

With  blessings  at  thy  feet, 
Falls  the  worn  peasant  to  his  noontide  rest ; 

Thy  verdant,  calm  retreat 
Inspires  the  sad,  and  soothes  the  troubled  breast. 

When,  at  the  twilight  hour, 
Plays  through  thy  tressil  crown  the  sun's  last  gleam, 

Under  thy  ancient  bower 
The  schoolboy  comes  to  sport,  the  bard  to  dream. 

And  when  the  moonbeams  fall 
Through  thy  broad  canopy  upon  the  grass, 

Making  a  fairy  hall, 
As  o'er  the  sward  the  flitting  shadows  pass ; 

Then  lovers  haste  to  thee, 
With  hearts  that  tremble  like  that  shifting  light, 

To  them,  O,  brave  old  tree, 
Thou  art  joy's  shrine  —  a  temple  of  delight ! 


TASSO   TO   LEONORA. 

u  That  she  was  aware  of  his  sentiments,  and  that  a  mysterious  intelligence 
existed  between  them,  is  apparent  from  the  meaning  and  tendency  of  innume- 
rable passages  scattered  through  his  minor  poems  —  too  significant  in  their 
application  to  be  mistaken."  —  Mrs.  Jameson's  Loves  of  the  Poets. 

IF  to  love  solitude  because  my  heart 

May  undisturbed  upon  thy  image  dwell, 
And  in  the  world  to  bear  a  cheerful  part 

To  hide  the  fond  thoughts  that  its  pulses  swell ; 
If  to  recall  with  credulous  delight 

Affection's  faintest  semblance  in  thee, 
To  feel  thy  breath  upon  my  cheek  at  night, 

And  start  in  anguish  that  it  may  not  be  ; 
If  in  thy  presence  ceaselessly  to  know 

Delicious  peace,  a  feeling  as  of  wings, 
Content  divine  within  my  bosom  glow, 

A  noble  scorn  of  all  unworthy  things,  — 
The  quiet  bliss  that  fills  one's  natal  air, 

When  once  again  it  fans  the  wanderer's  brow, 


67 


The  conscious  spirit  of  the  good  and  fair — 

The  wish  to  be  forever  such  as  now ; 
If  in  thy  absence  still  to  feel  thee  nigh, 

Or  with  impatient  longings  waste  the  day, 
If  to  be  haunted  by  thy  love-lit  eye, 

If  for  thy  good  devotedly  to  pray ; 
And  chiefly  sorrow  that  but  half  revealed 

Can  be  the  tenderness  that  in  me  lies, 
That  holiest  pleasure  must  be  all  concealed  — 

Shrinking  from  heartless  scoff  or  base  surmise  ; 
If,  as  my  being's  crowning  grace,  to  bless 

The  hour  we  recognized  each  other's  truth, 
And  with  calm  joy  unto  my  soul  confess 

That  thou  hast  realized  the  dreams  of  youth, — 
My  spirit's  mate,  long  cherished,  though  unknown, 

Friend  of  my  heart  bestowed  on  me  by  God, 
At  whose  approach  all  visions  else  have  flown 

From  the  vain  path  which  I  so  long  have  trod ; 
If  from  thy  sweet  caress  to  bear  new  life 

As  one  possessed  by  a  celestial  spell, 
That  armeth  me  against  all  outward  strife, 

And  ever  breathes  the  watchward  —  all  is  well ; 
If  with  glad  firmness,  casting  doubt  aside, 

To  bare  my  heart  to  thee  without  disguise, 
And  yield  it  up  as  to  my  chosen  bride, 

Feeling  that  life  vouchsafes  no  dearer  prize  ; 


68 


If  thus  to  blend  my  very  soul  with  thine 
By  mutual  consecration,  watching  o'er 

The  hallowed  bond  with  loyalty  divine  — 
If  this  be  love,  —  I  love  forevermore ! 


THE    MODERN   HERO. 

"  They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait."  —  MILTON. 

THE  lance  is  rusting  on  the  wall, 
No  laurel  crowns  are  wove, 

And  every  knightly  strain  is  hushed 
In  castle,  camp  and  grove. 

No  manly  breast  now  fronts  the  spear, 
No  strong  arm  waves  the  brand, 

To  vindicate  the  rightful  cause, 
Or  stay  Oppression's  hand. 

The  minstrel's  pilgrimage  has  ceased, 

Chivalric  days  are  o'er, 
And  fiery  steeds  bear  noblemen 

To  Palestine  no  more. 

What  battle-field  with  courage  now 
Shall  ardent  minds  inspire  ? 

Upon  what  shrine  can  youth  devote 
Its  wild  yet  hallowed  fire  ? 


70 

Must  the  bold  heart  ignobly  pine 

Far  from  heroic  strife, 
And  win  no  trophies  to  adorn 

This  cold  and  fleeting  life  ? 

Is  there  no  guerdon  for  the  brave  ? 

No  warfare  for  the  free  ? 
No  wrong  for  valor  to  redress  ? 

For  men  no  victory  ? 

Shall  high  and  earnest  purpose  die, 
And  souls  of  might  grow  tame  ? 

Glory  no  more  be  warmed  to  life 
By  Love's  ennobling  flame  ? 

Forbid  it  every  pulse  that  leaps 

At  Beauty's  kindling  smile, 
Forbid  it  all  the  glowing  dreams 

That  youthful  hearts  beguile  ! 

By  the  clear  spell  that  morning  weaves, 
By  noontide's  stirring  glare, 

By  the  vast  sea,  the  mighty  woods, 
And  midnight's  solemn  air  ; 


71 

By  Nature's  deep  and  constant  tones, 
Tears  that  are  born  of  song, 

And  thrills  that  eloquence  awakes 
In  every  human  throng ; 

By  childhood's  hopefulness  serene, 
And  woman's  cherished  name, 

Let  not  heroic  spirits  yield 
Their  heritage  of  fame  ! 

It  may  no  more  be  won  in  arms, 
And  knighthood's  loyal  toil, 

Nor  flourish,  like  Marengo's  grain, 
Upon  a  blood-stained  soil. 

It  will  not  live  in  warrior's  tales, 

Or  lay  of  troubadour, 
Nor  shall  the  scarf  of  ladye-love 

Become  its  emblem  more. 

But  in  the  quietude  of  thought,  — 

The  soul's  divine  retreat, 
Does  Valor  now  her  garlands  twine, 

And  rear  her  proudest  seat. 


72 

Tliey  who  most  bravely  can  endure, 

Most  earnestly  pursue, 
Amid  Opinion's  tyrant  bands 

Unto  themselves  be  true  ! 


Rejoice  in  Beauty  more  than  gain, 
Guard  well  the  dreams  of  youth, 

And  with  devoted  firmness  live 
Crusaders  for  the  Truth  ! 


The  freedom  of  the  mind  maintain, 

Its  sacredness  revere, 
And  cling  to  Honor's  open  path, 

As  planets  to  their  sphere  ; 

Who  own  no  gage  but  that  of  Faith, 
And  with  undaunted  brow, 

Turn  from  the  worshippers  of  gold,- 
These  are  the  heroes  now  ! 


In  lonely  watchfulness  they  stand 
Upon  Time's  hoary  steep, 

And  Glory's  flickering  beacon-lights, 
For  coming  ages  keep. 


73 

Thus  bravely  live  heroic  men, 
A  consecrated  band ; 

Life  is  to  them  a  battle-field, 
Their  hearts  a  Holy  Land. 


HELOISE. 

HER  beaming  look  of  sweet  repose, 

Her  mild  yet  queenly  air, 
In  which  a  sunny  magic  glows, 

Luxuriantly  fair ; 
Her  soft  tones  languidly  delayed, 

That  from  such  lips  are  sped, 
They  seem  caressingly  afraid 

To  leave  their  rosy  bed ; 
Her  laugh  that  into  sparkles  breaks 

The  listless  tide  of  care, 
And  to  a  breezy  gladness  wakes 

Life's  dull  and  common  air ; 
The  spirit  of  her  native  wild 

Frank,  kindly  and  sincere, 
That,  buoyant  as  a  trusting  child, 

Lurks  in  each  smile  and  tear ; 
I  In-  rich  locks,  like  the  warrior's  fleece, 

Attracting  dews  of  joy, 
Her  artless  yielding  to  caprice 

Defying  all  annoy ; 


75 

Proclaim  that  her  exultant  sail 

To  beauty's  golden  noon, 
Has  onward  swept  before  the  gale 

Of  triumph's  gay  monsoon  : 
Yet  think  not  as  you  list  and  gaze, 

No  deeper  meaning  lies 
In  the  benign  and  varying  rays 

Of  those  propitious  eyes  ; 
No  senseless  idol  of  the  throng 

Could  be  so  fresh  and  true, 
No  cadence  of  an  idle  song 

Such  lofty  dreams  renew  ! 


THE  GREEK  SLAVE. 

A   STATUE   BY  POWERS. 

Do  no  human  pulses  quiver  in  those  wrists  that  bear 
the  gyves, 

With  a  noble,  sweet  endurance,  such  as  moulds  heroic 
lives  ? 

Is  no  woman's  heart  now  beating  in  that  bosom's  patient 
swell  ? 

Do  no  thoughts  of  love  or  glory  in  that  gaze  of  meek- 
ness dwell  ? 

Some  pent  glow,  methinks,  diffuses  o'er  those  limbs  a 
grace  of  soul, 

Warm  with  Nature,  and  yet  chastened  by  a  holy  self- 
control  ; 

Teaching  how  the  loyal  spirit  ne'er  can  feel  an  outward 
chain, 

While  its  truth  remains  unconquered,  and  the  will  as- 
serts her  reign. 


77 


By  the  hand  that  grasps  the  column,  by  the  foot  so 

calmly  press'd, 
By  the  mien  sustained  though  vanquished,  and  the  soft, 

relying  breast  — 
Light  as  air  may  be  the  fetter  that  Earth's  tyranny 

doth  weave, 
And  her  slaves,  by  wisest  courage,  may  their  destiny 

retrieve ! 

By  the  pride  of  gentle  nurture,  unsubdued  by  freedorn's 

loss, 
By  the  robe  so  deftly  woven,  by  the  locket  and  the 

cross  — 
Half  unconscious  of  thy  bondage,  on  the  wings  of  Faith 

elate, 
Thou  art  gifted  with  a  being  high  above  thy  seeming 

fate! 

What  to  thee  a  herd  of  gazers  ?  what  to  thee  a  noisy 
mart  ? 

Rapt  in  tranquil,  fond  seclusion,  thou  art  musing  far 
apart : 

As  the  twilight  falls  around  thee,  and  thy  matchless 
form  I  scan, 

Rising  in  serene  abstraction,  though  it  wears  misfor- 
tune's ban ; 


78 


With  thy  dimpled  arm  depending,  and  thy  pure,  avert- 
ed brow,  — 

Earnest  words  I  hear  thee  breathing  to  thy  distant  lover 
now ;  — 

Words  of  triumph,  not  of  wailing,  for  the  cheer  of  Hope 
is  thine, 

And,  immortal  in  thy  beauty,  sorrow  grows  with  thee 
divine : 

u  The  ark  remained  while  on  lone  pinion  hovered  far 

the  restless  dove, 
And,  though  captive,  ever  o'er  me  spreads  the  aegis  of 

thy  love ; 
If  I  could  not  feel  its  shielding  to  the  frozen  verge  of 

Time, 
If  my  days  were  not  enlivened  with  a  sense  of  trust 

sublime, — 

"  Vain  the  tryst  that  filled  my  being,  vain  the  hue  that 

came  and  went, 
And  the  vainest  of  delusions   our   unspeakable  con- 

tent! 
Let  tin-  dream  that  we  have  cherished  make  more  dear 

each  hidden  spell, 
Quicken  every  true  endeavor,  and  each  baneful  i 

quell ; 


79 


"  Give  a  tone  of  soulful  music  to  the  whisper  of  the 
trees, 

Fill  the  very  air  with  comfort,  so  that  common  things 
shall  please  ; 

Cover  with  divine  inscriptions  e'en  the  lowly-waving 
fern, 

Make  the  farthest  star  in  heaven  with  prophetic  radi- 
ance burn  ; 

"  Draw  a  sympathetic  echo  from  the  plaintive  low  of 
kine, 

From  the  cheerful  hum  of  insects,  and  the  dash  of  roar- 
ing brine  ; 

Meet,  full  oft,  responsive  greetings  in  the  twinkle  of  the 
grass, 

And  the  flying  cloud's  huge  shadows,  as  along  the  hills 
they  pass  ; 

"When  thy  warm  lips  tremble  softly  with  emotion's 
voiceless  glow, 

And  a  vague  and  tender  longing  makes  thy  eyelids 
overflow  — 

When  thy  dark  and  clustered  tresses  from  the  brow  are 
cast  away, 

And  thy  zoneless  robe  is  stirring  with  the  heart's  un- 
conscious play  ; 


80 


"  When  a  rich  and  dreamy  languor  holds  thce  in  a 

grateful  trance, 
As  through  green  and  rustling  foliage,  sky  and  uat<  -r 

meet  thy  glance ; 
Or  thy  voice  spontaneous  wanders  through  some  olden 

poet's  song, 
While  the  hush  of  deepening  twilight  all  thy  fondest 

moods  prolong ; 

"  When  each  human  accent  irks  thee  like  a  gossip's 
weary  tale, 

And  the  idle  tricks  of  Custom  make  the  zest  of  Nature 
stale ; 

When  a  lapse  of  care  invites  thee  momently  to  sum- 
mon back, 

One  by  one,  the  signs  of  promise  that  redeem  thy 
memory's  track  ; 

"  \Vh(  n  a  stream  or  flower  charms  thee  by  its  beauty's 

meek  appeal, 
Or  a  magic  cadence,  quickly,  Fancy's  sweetest  founts 

unseal ; 
\Vh<  n  the  breeze  thy  cheek  is  fanning  with  the  jocund 

.    air  of  health, 

Or  before  thy  sight  is  waving  the  full  harvest's  golden 
1th  ; 


81 


"When   to   patient  self-reliance   driven   by   ungenial 

things, 
All  thy  lofty  spirit  broodeth  like  a  bird  with  drooping 

wings ; 
When  the  depth  of  this  existence  awes  the  flutter  of  its 

glee, 
In  thy  struggle  and  thy  quiet,  know  that  I  am  near  to 

thee ! " 


ROME. 

Roma!  Roma!  Roma! 
Non  £  pia  come  era  prima. 

A  TERRACE  lifts  above  the  People's  square, 

Its  colonnade ; 
About  it  lies  the  warm  and  crystal  air, 

And  fir-tree's  shade. 

Thence  a  wide  scene  attracts  the  patient  gaze, 

Saint  Peter's  dome 
Looms  through  the  far  horizon's  purple  haze, 

Religion's  home  ! 

Columns  that  peer  between  huge  palace  walls, 

A  garden's  bloom, 
The  mount  where  crumble  Caesar's  ivied  halls, 

The  Castle-Tomb ; 

Egypt's  iv  d  shaft  and  Travertine's  brown  hue, 

The  moss-grown  tiles, 
<  >r  tin;  broad  firmament  of  cloudless  blue 

Our  sight  beguil 


83 


Once  the  awed  warrior  from  yon  streamlet's  banks 

Cast  looks  benign, 
When  pointing  to  his  onward-moving  ranks, 

The  holy  sign. 


Fair  women  from  these  casements  roses  flung 

To  strew  his  way, 
Who  Laura's  graces  so  divinely  sung 

They  live  to-day. 

In  those  dim  cloisters  Palestine's  worn  bard 

His  wreath  laid  by, 
Yielding  the  triumph  that  his  sorrows  marred, 

Content  to  die. 


From  yonder  court-yard  Beatrice  was  led, 

Whose  pictured  face 
Soft  beauty  unto  sternest  anguish  wed 

In  deathless  grace. 

Here  stood  Lorraine  to  watch  on  many  an  eve 

The  sun  go  down ; 
There  paused  Corinne  from  Oswald  to  receive 

Her  fallen  crown. 


84 


By  such  a  liirlit  would  Kaphaol  fondly  seek 

Expression  ran-, 
Or  make  the  Fornarina's  olive  check 

Love's  blushes  wear. 


A  shattered  bridge  here  juts  its  weedy  curve 

O'er  Tiber's  bed, 
And  there  a  shape  whose  name  thrills  every  nerve, 

Arrests  the  tread. 


O'er  convent  gates  the  stately  cypress  rears 

Its  verdant  lines, 
And  fountains  gaily  throw  their  constant  tears 

On  broken  shrines. 


Fields  where  dank  vapors  steadily  consume 

The  life  of  man, 
And  lizards  rustle  through  the  stunted  broom, — 

Tall  arches  span. 

There  the  wan  herdsman  in  the  noontide  sleeps, 

The  gray  kine  doze, 
And  goats  climb  up  to  where  on  ruined  heaps 

Acanthus  grows. 


85 


From  one  imperial  trophy  turn  with  pain 

The  Jews  aside, 
For  on  it  emblems  of  their  conquered  fane 

Are  still  descried. 


The  mendicant,  whose  low  plea  fills  thine  ear 

At  every  pass, 
Before  an  altar  kings  have  decked,  may  hear 

The  chanted  mass. 


On  lofty  ceilings  vivid  frescoes  glow, 

Auroras  beam  ; 
The  steeds  of  Neptune  through  the  water  go, 

Or  Sybils  dream. 

As  in  the  flickering  torchlight  shadows  weaved 

Illusions  wild, 
Methought  Apollo's  bosom  slightly  heaved, 

And  Juno  smiled ! 


Aerial  Mercuries  in  bronze  upspring, 

Dianas  fly, 
And  marble  Cupids  to  their  Psyches  cling, 

Without  a  sigh. 


86 


In  grottoes,  sec  the  hair  of  Venus1  creep 

Round  dripping  stones, 
( >r  tliread  the  endless  catacombs  where  sleep 

Old  martyrs'  bones. 

Upon  this  esplanade  is  basking  now 

A  son  of  toil, 
But  not  a  thought  rests  on  his  swarthy  brow 

Of  Time's  vast  spoil. 

His  massive  limbs  with  noblest  sculptures  vie, 

Devoid  of  care 
Behold  him  on  the  sunny  terrace  lie, 

And  drink  the  air ! 

With  gestures  free  and  looks  of  eager  life, 

Tones  deep  and  mild, 
Intent  he  plies  the  finger's  harmless  strife2 — 

A  gleesome  child ! 

The  shaggy  Calabrese,  who  lingers  near, 

At  Christmas  comes  to  play 
reeds  before  Madonna  every  year, 
Then  hastes  away. 

1  The  name  of  a  plant. 

*  An  Italian  peasant's  game  played  with  the  fingers. 


87 


Now  mark  the  rustic  pair  who  dance  apart ; 

What  gay  surprise  ! 
Her  clipsome  bodice  holds  the  Roman  heart 

That  lights  her  eyes  : 

His  rapid  steps  are  timed  by  native  zeal ; 

The  manly  chest 
Swells  with  such  candid  joy  that  we  can  feel 

Each  motion's  zest. 


What  artless  pleasure  her  calm  smile  betrays, 

Whose  glances  keen 
Follow  the  pastime  as  she  lightly  plays 

The  tambourine ! 


They  know  when  chestnut  groves  repast  will  yield, 

Where  vineyards  spread  ; 
Before  their  saint  at  morn  they  trustful  kneeled, 

Why  doubt  or  dread  ? 

A  bearded  Capuchin  his  cowl  throws  back, 

Demurely  nigh ; 
A  Saxon  boy  with  nurse  upon  his  track, 

Bounds  laughing  by. 


88 


Still  o'er  the  relics  of  the  Past  around 

The  Day-beams  pour, 
And  winds  awake  the  same  continuous  sound 

They  woke  of  yore. 

Thus  Nature  takes  to  her  embrace  serene 

What  Age  has  clad, 
And  all  who  on  her  gentle  bosom  lean 

She  maketh  glad. 


TRT-MOUNTAIN. 

THROUGH  Time's  dim  atmosphere,  behold 

Those  ancient  hills  again, 
Rising  to  Fancy's  eager  view 

In  solitude,  as  when 
Beneath  the  summer  firmament, 

So  silently  of  yore, 
The  shadow  of  each  passing  cloud 

Their  rugged  bosoms  bore  ! 

They  sloped  in  pathless  grandeur  then 

Down  to  the  murmuring  sea, 
And  rose  upon  the  woodland  plain 

In  lonely  majesty. 

The  breeze,  at  noontide,  whispered  soft 
.  Their  emerald  knolls  among, 
And  midnight's  wind,  amid  their  heights, 

Its  wildest  dirges  sung. 

As  on  their  brow  the  forest-king 
Paused  in  his  weary  way, 


90 


From  far  below  his  quick  car  caught 

The  moaning  of  the  bay  ; 
The  dry  leaves,  fanned  by  autumn's  breath, 

Along  their  ridges  crept ; 
And  snow-wreaths,  like  storm-whitened  waves, 

Around  them  rudely  swept. 


For  ages,  o'er  their  swelling  sides, 

Grew  the  wild  flowers  of  spring, 
And  stars  smiled  down,  and  dew-founts  poured 

Their  gentle  offering. 
The  moonbeams  played  upon  their  peaks, 

And  at  their  feet  the  tide  ; 
And  thus,  like  altar-mounts,  they  stood, 

By  nature  sanctified. 


Now,  when  to  mark  their  beacon-forms 

The  seaman  turns  his  gaze, 
It  quails,  as  roof,  and  spire,  and  dome 

Flash  in  the  sun's  bright  rays. 
On  those  wild  hills  a  thousand  homes 

Are  reared  in  proud  array, 
And  argosies  float  safely  o'er 

That  lone  and  isle-gemmed  bay. 


91 


Those  shadowy  mounds,  so  long  untrod, 

By  countless  feet  are  pressed  ; 
And  hosts  of  loved  ones  meekly  sleep 

Below  their  teeming  breast. 
A  world's  unnumbered  voices  float 

Within  their  narrow  bound  ; 
Love's  gentle  tone,  and  traffic's  hum, 

And  music's  thrilling  sound. 

There  Liberty  first  found  a  tongue 

Beneath  New  England's  sky, 
And  there  her  earliest  martyrs  stood, 

And  nerved  themselves  to  die. 
And  long  upon  these  ancient  hills, 

By  glory's  light  enshrined, 
May  rise  the  dwellings  of  the  free, 

The  city  of  the  mind. 


THE  RINGLET. 

THE  statesman's  cabinet  was  thickly  strewn 
With  parchment  scrolls,  Ambition's  implements: 
The  hum  of  passers  by,  the  low,  quick  note 
Of  the  rich  time-piece,  the  fantastic  play 
Of  chequered  light  athwart  the  dusky  room, 
The  sweet  aroma  and  the  pensive  strain 
From  his  wife's  terrace  stealing  winningly  — 
Were  all  unheeded  by  the  man  of  cares. 
You  might  have  known  the  failure  of  some  aim, 
Of  more  than  common  import,  in  the  plan 
Too  intricately  wove,  of  his  deep  schemes  : 
For  fixed  in  troubled  musings  was  his  gaze, 
As  restlessly  he  scanned  each  lettered  roll, 
Till  thrusting  back,  in  very  petulance, 

(If- read  packet  on  his  cabinet, 
The  spring-lock  of  a  secret  drawer  was  touch* d, 
And  the  forgotten  nook  where,  in  his  youth, 
He  had  been  wont  to  store  the  treasures  small 
Of  every  doting  h°Pc»  sprang  forth  unhid  ; 
\Vhat  mystic  token  stays  his  anxious  gaze  ? 


93 


And    whence   that    glowing    flush  ?  —  that    mournful 

smile  ? 

Ay,  and  the  tear  in  that  world-tutored  eye  ? 
List,   list !  —  he   speaks  —  mark   well    his   thoughtful 

words ; 
They  may  instruct  thee,  —  for  men  call  him  great : 

"  Ringlet  of  golden  hair  ! 
How  thou  dost  move  my  very  manhood  now  ! 

Stirring  in  radiance,  there, 
As  once  thou  didst  above  this  care-worn  brow. 

"  Methinks  it  cannot  be 
That  thou  art  mine  ;  yet,  gazing,  I  do  feel 

The  spell  of  infancy, 
Like  distant  music,  through  my  bosom  steal. 

"  Sweet  relic  of  that  hour  ! 
She  who  so  fondly  decked  thee,  day  by  day, 

As  some  love-cherished  flower, 
From  the  green  earth,  for  aye,  has  passed  away ! 

"  O  !  what  unconscious  bliss 
Filled  this  lone  breast  when  thou  wert  floating  free, 

Wooing  the  breeze's  kiss  ! 
Symbol  of  early  joy,  I  welcome  thee  ! 


94 


u  Would  that  the  sunny  hue 
That  gilds  thy  silken  threads  so  brightly  o'er,  — 

Would  that  life's  morning  dew 
Might  bathe  my  restless  heart  forevermore ! 

u  Unto  the  spirit-land 
Could  I,  in  being's  brightness,  have  been  borne,  - 

Had  her  fond,  trembling  hand 
From  my  cold  brow  this  golden  ringlet  shorn  ; 

"  Not,  then,  should  I  thus  gaze, 
And  sigh  that  time  has  weakened  and  made  dim 

The  charm  which  thou  dost  raise,  — 
Bright  are  the  tresses  of  the  cherubim  ! 

"  Type  of  life's  tranquil  spring ! 
Thy  voice  is  rich  and  eloquently  mild, 

The  Teacher's  echoing : 
"  '  Become  thou  now  e'en  as  a  little  child.' " 


WINTER. 

EARTH  in  thy  cold  arms  reposes, 
Chilled  her  bosom's  genial  glow, 

Crystals  gleam  where  blossomed  roses, 
Violets  long  have  ceased  to  blow ; 

In  the  bleak  air  moaning,  wave 

Leafless  branches  o'er  their  grave. 

Where  the  tufted  maize  once  quivered, 
And  the  vine-stalks  lightly  curled, 

Every  golden  spear  is  shivered. 
Every  leafy  banner  furled  ; 

All  the  fretted  landscape  shines 

With  the  frost's  enamelled  lines. 

Hushed  the  voice  of  singing  fountains, 
Woodland  strains  no  longer  flow, 

And  the  pine-trees  on  the  mountains, 
Bend  beneath  their  load  of  snow  — 

Like  stern  martyrs  waiting  doom, 

leady  shrouded  for  the  tomb. 


96 

All  the  meadow's  grassy  billows, 
Lie  beneath  an  ermine  shroud, 

No  green  bank  the  moonbeam  pillows, 
When  it  glances  through  a  cloud ; 

But  the  flying  drifts  look  bright, 

Sparkling  in  its  silver  light. 

Downy  flakes  like  dove  plumes  stealing, 
Stainless  robes  around  have  spread, 

Earth,  the  charm  of  silence  feeling, 
Echoes  not  the  muffled  tread ; 

But  the  chafing  breakers  wail, 

And  wild  dirges  fill  the  gale. 

Stars  with  keener  rays  are  beaming, 
Through  the  still  and  frozen  air, 

On  the  ice-bound  streamlets  gleaming, 
To  illume  their  mute  despair  — 

Heaven's  lamps,  whose  lustre  sweet 

Glimmers  on  earth's  winding  sheet. 

While  all  Nature,  thus  reposing, 
Yields  her  charms  to  winter's  sleep, 

Let  the  soul,  its  buds  disclosing, 
Still  a  spring-like  festal  keep; 

Uid  Fancy  Lrlean  h«-r  fruits  divine, 

And  Love  his  summer  garlands  twine. 


VICTORINE. 

SHE  stands  all  motionless  awhile, 

The  head  bowed  slightly,  as  in  thought, 
Upon  the  lips  a  placid  smile, 

The  glance  with  quiet  meaning  fraught ; 
By  Heaven !  'tis  Judith  as  she  lives 

In  Guido's  nobly-pencilled  face, 
Made  fairer  by  the  spell  that  gives 

A  matchless  charm  to  vital  grace  ! 


She  meekly  sits  in  ardent  mood, 

With  pallid  cheek  but  eye  of  fire, 
Too  proud  to  yield,  yet  half-subdued 

By  mournful  thought  or  wild  desire  ; 
At  once  my  fancy's  wings  unfurl 

To  range  a  bleak  but  magic  soil, 
For  as  I  look  upon  the  girl, 

I  start  to  find  her  Minna  Troil ! 
7 


98 

1 1<  r  arms  are  folded  on  her  breast, 

She  smiles  half  scornful,  half  in  glee, 
Her  eyes  are  closed,  but  not  in  rest, 

You  every  jetty  lash  may  see  ; 
There  is  a  zest,  a  relish  high, 

In  loveliness  thus  touched  with  spite, 
Perchance  it  oftener  wakes  the  sigh, 

But  then  it  makes  love's  fetters  light ; 

For  none  but  madmen  bow,  for  life, 

To  beauty  which  is  lapped  in  pride, 
That  coldly  mocks  affection's  strife, 

And  yields  not  to  devotion's  tide  ; 
Yet  who  would  shrink  from  such  a  fate 

With  scorn  so  lovely  ever  nigh  ? 
The  very  look  of  shrewish  Kate, 

The  very  air  of  Lady  Di ! 

Methinks  thou  frownest  at  my  lay ; 

0  would  that  I  were  there  to  see  ! 
"The  hateful  man"  —  I  hear  thee  say  — 

"  To  write  such  saucy  things  of  me  ! " 
Well,  little  Cleopatra,  now 

1  will  not  trace  thy  picture  more, 
I'll  leave  thy  lip  and  cheek  and  brow 

For  sweeter  minstrels  to  explore  ; 


99  . 

But  for  those  windows  of  the  soul  — 

Those  eyes  in  which  'tis  heaven  to  dwell, 
The  stars  of  fate,  hope's  brightest  goal, 

Methinks  I  know  their  language  well ; 
And  were  the  fairy's  powers  mine, 

I'd  watch  beside  thy  couch  to-night, 
And  on  them  squeeze  the  flower  divine 

That  makes  the  dreamer  love  at  sight ! 


IL    PENSEROSO. 

ARE  we  not  exiles  here  ? 
Come  there  not  o'er  us  memories  of  a  clime 
More  genial  and  more  dear 
Than  this  of  time  ? 

When  deep,  vague  wishes  press 
Upon  the  soul  and  prompt  it  to  aspire, 
A  mystic  loneliness, 
And  wild  desire ; 

When  our  long-baffled  zeal 
Turns  back,  in  mockery,  on  the  weary  heart, 
Till  at  the  sad  appeal, 
Dismayed  we  start ; 

And  like  the  Deluge  dove, 
Outflown  upon  the  world's  cold  sea  we  lie, 
And  all  our  dreams  of  love 
In  anguish  die  : 


101 

Nature  no  more  endears, 
Her  blissful  strains  seem  only  breathed  afar, 
Nor  mount,  nor  flower  cheers, 
Nor  smiling  star : 

Familiar  things  grow  strange, 
Fond  hopes,  like  tendrils  shooting  to  the  air, 
Through  friendless  being  range, 
To  meet  despair : 


And  nursed  by  secret  tears, 
Rich  but  frail  visions  in  the  heart  have  birth, 
And  this  fair  world  appears 
A  homeless  earth ! 

Then  must  we  summon  back 
Blest  guides  who  long  ago  have  met  the  strife, 
And  left  a  radiant  track 
To  mark  their  life  ; 

Then  must  we  look  around 
On  heroes'  deeds  —  the  landmarks  of  the  brave, 
And  hear  their  cheers  resound 
From  off  the  wave ; 


102 

Then  must  we  turn  from  show, 
Pleasure  and  fame,  the  phantom  race  of  care, 
And  let  our  spirits  flow 
In  earnest  prayer ! 


SLEEPY    HOLLOW. 

BENEATH  these  gold  and  azure  skies, 
The  river  winds  through  leafy  glades, 

Save  where,  like  battlements,  arise 
The  gray  and  tufted  palisades. 

The  fervor  of  this  sultry  time 
Is  tempered  by  the  humid  earth, 

And  zephyrs  born  of  summer's  prime, 
Give  a  delicious  coolness  birth. 

They  freshen  this  sequestered  nook 

With  constant  greetings  bland  and  free  ; 

The  pages  of  the  open  book 

All  flutter  with  their  wayward  glee. 

As  quicker  swell  their  breathings  soft, 
Cloud  shadows  skim  along  the  field  ; 

And  yonder  dangling  woodbines  oft 
Their  crimson  bugles  gently  yield. 


104 

The  tulip  tree  majestic  stirs, 

Far  down  the  water's  marge  beside,. 
And  now  awake  the  nearer  firs, 

And  toss  their  ample  branches  wide. 


How  blithely  trails  the  pendent  vine  ! 

The  grain  slope  lies  in  green  repose  ; 
Through  the  dark  foliage  of  the  pine 

And  lofty  elms,  the  sunshine  glows. 

Like  sentinels  in  firm  array 

The  trees  of  life  their  shafts  uprear ; 
Red  cones  upon  the  sumac  play, 

And  ancient  locusts  whisper  near. 

From  wave  and  meadow,  cliff  and  sky, 
Let  thy  stray  vision  homeward  fall  ; 

Behold  the  mist-bloom  floating  nigh, 
And  hollyhock  white-edged  and  tall ; 

Its  gaudy  leaves,  though  fanned  apart, 
Round  thick  and  mealy  stamens  spring, 

And  nestled  to  its  crimson  heart, 
The  sated  bees  enamored  cling. 


105 

Mark  the  broad  terrace  flecked  with  light, 
That  peeps  through  trellises  of  rose, 

And  quivers  with  a  vague  delight, 

As  each  pale  shadow  comes  and  goes. 

The  near,  low  gurgle  of  the  brook, 

The  wren's  glad  chirp,  the  scented  hay, 

And  e'en  the  watch-dog's  peaceful  look 
Our  vain  disquietudes  allay. 

0,  were  our  lives  attuned  to  glide, 
Like  this  serene  and  balmy  day, 

Might  we  arrest  its  radiant  tide, 

And  breathe  its  tranquil  joy  alway  ; 


Or  were  our  prisoned  hearts  to  know 

The  freedom  of  this  cheering  air, 
And,  like  this  sunshine,  ever  glow, 

Undimmed  by  doubt,  or  fear  or  care  ; 

Fond  glances  e'er  would  light  the  eye, 

Smiles  wreathe  the  lip,  peace  crown  the   brow, 

For  the  content  would  never  die 
That  can  but  live  in  memory  now  ! 


LORD   BYRON   AT   VENICE. 

A  SAFFRON  tint  o'erspread  the  broad  lagoon 
Caught  from  the  golden  west,  and  as  its  flush 
Deepened  to  crimson,  and  the  crystal  air 
Beamed  like  a  rainbow,  sweetly  was  revealed 
The  secret  of  their  art,  whose  magic  hues 
Still  make  the  palace  walls  of  Venice  glow 
With  colors  born  in  heaven. 

Men  of  all  climes 

Cluster  within  her  square  —  the  passive  Turk, 
With  jewelled  turban,  the  mercurial  Greek, 
And  sombre  Jew,  and,  gliding  with  a  step 
Whose  echo  stirs  the  heart,  fair  shapes  flit  by, 
Shrouded  in  black  ;  yet  evening  wakes  not  there 
The  sounds  that  fill  the  cities  of  the  land  ; 
No  rumbling  wheel  or  tramp  of  passing  steed 
Drowns  the  low  hum  of  voices  as  they  rise  ; 
But  from  her  window,  on  a  lone  canal, 
The  fair  Venetian  hears  the  plash  of  oars, 
The  tide  that  rippk-s  by  the  mossy  wall, 


107 

Some  distant  melody  or  convent  bell, 

And  cry  of  gondoliers,  when  their  bright  prows 

Clash  at  an  angle  of  the  lonely  street. 

From  the  deep  shadow  of  the  Ducal  pile 
Shot  a  dark  barge,  that  floated  gently  on 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  quiet  bay ; 
And  springing  lightly  thence,  a  noble  form 
Revelled  alone  amid  the  sleeping  waves ; 
Now,  like  an  athlete,  cleaving  swift  his  way, 
And  now,  the  image  of  a  sculptor's  dream, 
Pillowed  upon  the  sea,  gazing  entranced 
From  that  wild  couch  up  to  the  rosy  clouds  ; 
And  cradled  thus,  like  her  whom  he  adored, 
Beauty's  immortal  goddess,  at  her  birth, 
His  throbbing  brow  grew  still,  and  his  whole  frame 
Nerved  with  refreshing  coolness,  and  the  thirst 
Of  passion's  fever  vanished  from  his  heart ; 
He  turned  from  Venice,  with  a  bitter  smile, 
To  the  vast  firmament  and  waters  pure, 
And,  eager  for  their  clear  tranquillity, 
Sighed  for  a  home  in  some  far  nook  of  earth, 
Where  to  one  true  and  genial  soul  allied, 
His  restless  spirit  might  be  fed  with  hope, 
Till  peace  -should  steal  upon  him,  like  the  calm 
Of  that  delicious  eve  ! 


LUNA.  — AN  ODE. 

THE  south  wind  hath  its  balm,  the  sea  its  cheer, 
And  autumn  woods  their  bright  and  myriad  hues ; 
Thine  is  a  joy  that  love  and  faith  endear, 

And  awe  subdues : 
The  wave-tost  seamen  and  the  harvest  crew, 

When  on  their  golden  sheaves  the  quivering  dew 

Hangs  like  pure  tears  —  all  fear  beguile, 
In  glancing  from  their  task  to  thy  maternal  smile ! 
The  mist  of  hill -tops  undulating  wreathes, 
At  thy  enchanting  touch,  a  magic  woof, 
And  curling  incense  fainter  odor  breathes, 
And,  in  transparent  clouds,  hangs  round  the  vaulted 

roof. 

Huge  icebergs,  with  their  crystal  spires, 
Slow  heaving  from  the  northern  main, 
Like  frozen  monuments  of  high  desires 
Destined  to  melt  in  nothingness  again, — 

Float  in  thy  mystic  beams, 
As  piles  aerial  down  the  tide  of  dreams ! 


109 


A  sacred  greeting  falls 
With  thy  mild  presence,  on  the  ruined  fane, 
Columns  time-stained,  dim  frieze,  and  ivied  walls, 
As  if  a  fond  delight  thou  didst  attain 

To  mingle  with  the  Past, 
And  o'er  her  trophies  lone  a  holy  mantle  cast ! 
Along  the  billow's  snowy  crest 
Thy  beams  a  moment  rest, 
And  then,  in  sparkling  mirth,  dissolve  away  ; 

Through  forest  boughs,  amid  the  withered  leaves, 

Thy  light  a  tracery  weaves, 
And  on  the  mossy  clumps  its  rays  fantastic  play. 

With  thee,  ethereal  guide, 
What  reverent  joy  to  pace  the  temple  floor, 

And  watch  thy  silver  tide 

O'er  statue,  tomb  and  arch  its  solemn  radiance  pour ! 
Like  a  celestial  magnet  thou  dost  sway 

The  untamed  waters  in  their  ebb  and  flow, 
The  maniac  raves  beneath  thy  pallid  ray, 

And  poet's  visions  glow. 

Madonna  of  the  stars  !  through  the  cold  prison-grate 
Thou  stealest,  like  a  nun  on  mercy  bent, 

To  cheer  the  desolate, 

And  usher  in  grief's  tears  when  her  mute  pang  is  spent ! 
I  marvel  not  that  once  thy  altars  rose 
Sacred  to  human  woes, 


110 


And  nations  deemed  thee  arbitress  of  Fate, 
To  whom  enamored  virgins  made  their  prayer, 

Or  widows  in  their  first  despair, 
And  wistful  gazed  upon  thy  queenly  state, 
As,  with  a  meek  assurance,  gliding  by, 

In  might  and  beauty  unelate, 
Into  the  bridal  chambers  of  the  sky ! 
And  less  I  marvel  that  Endymion  sighed 

To  yield  his  spirit  unto  thine, 
And  felt  thee  soul-allied, 
Making  his  being  thy  receptive  shrine. 

A  lofty  peace  is  thine  ;  —  the  tides  of  life 
Flow  gently  when  thy  soothing  orb  appears, 

And  passion's  fevered  strife 
From  thy  chaste  glow  imbibes  the- calmness  of  the 

spheres. 

O  twilight  glory  !  that  doth  ne'er  awake 
Exhausting  joy,  but  evenly  and  fond, 
Allays  the  immortal  thirst  it  cannot  slake, 

And  heals  the  chafing  of  the  work-day  bond ; 
Give  me  thy  patient  spell !  —  to  bear 

With  an  unclouded  brow,  the  secret  pain, 
(That  floods  my  soul  as  thy  pale  beams  the  air,) 
Of  hopes  that  Reason  quells,  for  Love  to  wake  again  ! 


EVA. 

O  NOT  with  heartless  eulogy,  or  flattery's  idle  word, 
Can  I  approach  the  crystal  fount  God's  breath  has  often 

stirred ; 

With  thee  I  own  a  higher  spell,  and  feel  a  purer  air, 
For  when  I  strive  to  speak  thy  praise,  it  trembles  into 

prayer ! 
Prophetic  thoughts  that  silent  dwell  beside  the  source 

of  tears, 
And  hopes  that  seem  too  sweet  and  high  to  know  the 

blight  of  years,  — 
A  solemn  tenderness  that  pleads  that  life  to  such  as 

thee 
May  prove  more  happy  and  divine  than  it  is  wont  to 

be,- 
All  —  all  forbid  that  I  profane  the  shrine  of  grace  and 

youth, 
With  any  tribute  but  a  wreath  twined  by  the  hand  of 

truth. 


112 


AJ    I   listen  to  thy  gentle  voice,  and  look  within  thine 
eyes, 

To  trace  the  workings  of  thy  soul  with  exquisite  sur- 
prise, 

Or  watch  thy  fancies  quiver  like    dew-drops   on   the 
grass, 

I  think  some  dream  of  beauty  in  thee  has  come  to 
pass ; 

And  visions  rise  of  fairer  worlds  whose  memory  time 
has  quelled, 

The  weight  of  life  is  lifted,  the  gloom  of  earth  dis- 
pelled ; 

I  see  the  bloom  upon  the  grass,  the  sparkle  on  the 
wave, 

And  fear  no  more  the  shaft  of  fate,  or  shadow  of  the 
grave  ; 

A  faith  in  something  bright  and  good  that  cannot  pass 
away, 

in-  the  world  from  loneliness  and  hope  from  slow 
decay. 

1  n<k  not  for  thee,  dearest,  the  weary  crown  of  fame, 

Karth  boast!  no  sweeter  title  than  thy  loved  and  gentle 
pan 

I  would  not  that  thy  goodness  should  dim  in  fortune's 

[flare, 

Or  thy  flowers  of  pleasure  wither  in  the  world's  cor- 
rupted air; 


113 


But  round  thy  pathway  ever  may  kindly  spirits  throng, 
And  thy  soul  ne'er  vainly  listen  for  an  echo  to  her  song ; 
And  when  affection's  vine  shall  shoot  around  its  elm  to 

twine, 
O  mayst  thou  find  as  fond  a  heart  and  true  a  love  as 

mine  ! 


TO  LADY  BLANCHE: 

A    FAVORITE    STEED. 

0  GENTLE  steed  !  ere  thou  dost  go, 
Let  pleasant  memories  overflow, 

To  speak  thy  just  renown  ; 
For  who  unmoved  can  thee  behold, 
Thy  spotless  coat,  thy  graceful  mould, 

And  rich  mane  floating  down  ? 

As  thus  I  pat  thy  neck  of  snow, 
Delicious  fancies  come  and  go, 

Like  thy  soft  eye's  dilating ; 
Thou  callest  back  the  days  of  yore, 
When  Faith's  emprizc  Love's  guerdon  wore, 

Heroic  deeds  creating. 

1  think  how  rarely  blend  in  thce 
High  spirit  and  docility, 

Good  faith  and  playful  art  ; 


115 

How,  moving  as  the  reins  direct, 
Thou  dost  such  nonchalance  affect  - 
A  woman's  counterpart ! 


For,  while  sequestered  paths  beside 
Thy  dainty  feet  right  onward  glide, 

Unconscious  speed  betraying  ; 
Let  but  spectators  come  in  view, 
Thou  dost  each  winsome  trick  renew, 

Thine  every  grace  displaying ! 

Yet  one  blest  truth  from  this  I  draw, 
And  trace  in  thy  caprice  a  law 

That  lends  new  worth  to  beauty ; 
High  instincts  mannered  charms  impart, 
But  for  the  chosen  of  the  heart 

Still  keep  all  love  and  duty. 


On  such  a  deed  sprung  Lochinvar, 
To  bear  so  gallantly  afar 

The  maid  he  bravely  wooed  ; 
On  such  a  steed  the  martyr-queen, 
Bewildered,  tearful,  yet  serene, 

Passed  on  to  Holyrood. 


116 

Of  all  thy  praise  be  this  the  meed, 
No  attribute  can  this  exceed, 

Thou  doest  the  behest 
Of  one  who  finds  in  thee  a  throne, 
As  firm  and  cheering  as  her  own 

In  hearts  where  she 's  a  guest. 

Then  arch  thy  neck  with  noble  zeal, 
Her  hand  upon  thy  mane  to  feel, 

And  leap,  curvet  and  prance  ! 
Amble  !  —  we  have  a  word  to  say  — 
Fly  !  —  how  life's  wings  exultant  play  ! 

Hurrah  for  Lady  Blanche  ! 


SURREY  TO  GERALDINE. 


"  She  was  so  beautiful  as  to  authorize  the  raptures  of  her  poetical  lover  ;  and 
too  proud  of  such  a  suitor  to  let  him  escape.  He  betrays  an  indignant  con- 
sciousness of  the  arts  by  which  she  keeps  him  entangled  in  her  chain  j  and 
accuses  her  expressly  of  a  love  of  general  admiration,  and  of  giving  her  coun- 
tenance and  favor  to  unworthy  rivals." — Mrs.  Jameson's  Loves  of  the  Poets. 


ALONE  once  more  !  —  but  with  such  deep  emotion, 
Waking  to  life  a  thousand  hopes  and  fears, 

Such  wild  distrust  —  such  absolute  devotion, 
My  bosom  seems  a  dreary  lake  of  tears  ;  — 

Tears  that  stern  manhood  long  restrained  from  gushing, 
As  mountains  keep  a  river  from  the  sea, 

Until  spring's  floods  impetuously  rushing, 
Channel  a  bed,  and  set  its  waters  free  ! 

What  mockery  to  all  true  and  earnest  feeling, 

This  fatal  union  of  the  false  and  fair ! 
Eyes,  lips,  and  voice  unmeasured  bliss  revealing, 

With  hearts  whose  lightness  fills  us  with  despair ! 


118 

Oh  God  !  some  sorrows  of  our  wondrous  being, 
A  patient  mind  can  partly  clear  away ; 

Ambition  cools  when  fortune's  gifts  are  fleeing, 

And  men  grow  thoughtful  round  a  brother's  clay  ;  — 

But  to  what  end  this  waste  of  noble  passion  ? 

This  wearing  of  a  truthful  heart  to  dust  — 
Adoring  slaves  of  humor,  praise,  or  fashion, 

The  vain  recipients  of  a  boundless  trust  ? 

Come  home,  fond  heart,  cease  all  instinctive  pleading, 

As  the  dread  fever  of  insane  desire, 
To  some  dark  gulf  thy  warm  affections  leading, 

When  love  must  long  survive,  though  faith  expire  ! 

Though  wonted  glory  from  the  earth  will  vanish, 
And  life  seem  desolate  and  hope  beguile, 

Love's  cherished  dream  learn  steadfastly  to  banish, 
Till  death  thy  spirit's  conflict  reconcile  ! 


WEST  POINT. 

WILD  umbrage  far  around  me  clings 
To  breezy  knoll  and  hushed  ravine, 

And  o'er  each  rocky  headland  flings 
Its  mantle  of  refreshing  green. 

The  echoes  that  so  boldly  rung 

When  cannon  flashed  from  steep  to  steep, 
And  Freedom's  airy  challenge  flung, 

In  each  romantic  valley  sleep. 

His  counsels  here  our  chieftain  breathed, 
Here  roved  his  mild,  undaunted  eye, 

When  yon  lone  fort  with  thickets  wreathed, 
Held  captive  Britain's  gallant  spy. 

Fit  home  to  rear  a  nation's  youth 
By  self-control  to  nerve  the  will, 

Through  knowledge  gain  expansive  truth, 
And  with  high  aims  life's  circle  fill. 


120 

How  grateful  is  the  sudden  change 
From  arid  pavements  to  the  grass, 

From  narrow  streets  that  thousands  range, 
To  meadows  where  June's  zephyrs  pass  ! 

Beneath  the  cliffs  the  river  steals 
In  darksome  eddies  to  the  shore, 

But  midway  every  sail  reveals 
Reflected  on  its  crystal  floor. 

In  tranquil  mood  the  cattle  walk 
Along  the  verdant  marge  to  feed, 

While  poised  upon  the  mullein  stalk 
The  chirping  red-bird  picks  the  seed. 

Low  murmurs  in  the  foliage  bred, 
The  clear  horizon's  azure  line, 

Fresh  turf  elastic  to  the  tread, 
And  leafy  canopies  are  thine. 

White  fleecy  clouds  move  slowly  by, 
How  cool  their  shadows  fall  to-day  ! 

A  moment  on  the  hills  tin  y  lie, 
And  then  like  spirits  glide  away. 


121 

Amid  the  herbage,  yesternight, 
His  web  the  cunning  spider  threw, 

And  now,  as  sparkling  diamonds  bright, 
It  glistens  with  the  pendent  dew. 


Gay  butterflies  dart  on  and  sink 

O'er  the  sweet  blossoms  of  the  pea, 

And  from  the  clover's  globe  of  pink 
Contented  hums  the  downy  bee. 

In  all  this  varied  beauty  glows 

Deep  meaning  for  the  thoughtful  heart, 
As  it  were  fain  to  teach  repose, 

And  lofty  confidence  impart. 

How  vivid  to  my  fancy  now, 

Uprise  the  forms  that  life  redeem  ! 

The  ardent  eye  —  the  open  brow, 
And  tender  smile  beside  me  seem. 


For  Nature's  presence  gathers  back 

The  deeds  that  grace,  the  loves  that  cheer, 

And  as  her  holy  steps  we  track, 

Hope's  rainbow  breaks  through  sorrow's  tear. 


THE   DIRGE   OF   THE   MARINER. 

I  ASK  not  to  sleep  where  the  ancient  church  bell 

Its  echoes  will  ring  o'er  my  grave, 
More  dear  than  its  chime  is  the  requiem  swell 

And  musical  moan  of  the  wave  : 
Let  not  the  frail  herbage  grow  over  my  bones 

Which  the  winter  gales  cover  with  snow, 

0  bury  me  not  where  memorial  stones 
Earth's  chronicled  sepulchres  show  ! 

But  place  me  away  where  the  curlews  sweep 
Round  the  ocean's  unlaurelled  goal, 

On  the  sparkling  beach  where  the  surges  sleep, 
And  crags  the  tide  control ; 

1  have  lived  on  its  mighty  and  solemn  breast, 

And  I  love  it  far  more  than  land, 

O,  when  I  am  dead,  let  my  ashes  rest 

Entombed  on  the  desolate  strand ! 

For  there  the  green  billows  with  chaplcts  of  foam, 
Will  come  from  the  midst  of  the  sea, 


123 


Like  friends  from  the  haunts  of  my  olden  home, 

To  utter  their  sorrow  for  me  ; 
They  will  bring  gay  weeds  from  the  fathomless  caves 

And  twine  them  above  my  head, 
And  the  ambient  gleam  of  the  playful  waves 

They  '11  cast  on  my  peaceful  bed  : 

And  shells  like  the  rainbow,  with  pebbles  rare, 

They'll  strew  on  the  lonely  strand, 
While  the  signs  of  their  faithful  vigils  there 

Will  be  traced  on  the  glistening  sand  : 
Sadly  the  sound  of  their  mournful  retreat 

In  the  distance  will  die  away, 
And  wildly  the  sobs  of  their  coming  will  greet 

The  home  of  the  mariner's  clay. 

They'll  haste  on  the  wings  of  the  tempest  to  wail, 

Or  under  the  starlight  to  sigh, 
They'll  throng  like  an  army  its  chieftain  to  hail, 

Or  meekly  creep  thither  to  die  ; 
Let  my  slab  be  inscribed  by  the  radiant  wave, 

My  shroud  be  enwove  from  the  surge, 
Let  no  tears  but  the  spray  wet  the  mariner's  gra  ve, 

And  the  sea  breathe  forever  his  dirge  ! 


THE  NIGHT-BLOOMING  CEREUS. 

How  coyly  thou  the  golden  hours  dost  number  ! 

Not  all  their  splendor  can  thy  love  beguile  ; 
Vainly  the  morning  zephyrs  fan  thy  slumber, 

And  noon's  rich  glory  wooes  thee  for  a  smile. 

For  thou  dost  blossom  when  cool  shadows  hover, 
And  dews  are  falling  through  the  dusky  air ; 

When  with  new  fervor  dreams  the  happy  lover, 
And  winds  grow  solemn  with  the  voice  of  prayer. 

While  all  around  thee  earth's  bright  things  are  sleeping, 

Gay  lilies  fade  and  droops  the  crimson  rose, 
Fresh  is  the  vigil  thou  alone  art  keeping, 

And  sweet  the  charms  thy  virgin  leaves  disclose. 

Thus,  in  the  soul,  is  deep  love  ever  hidden, 

Thus  noble  minds  will  fondly  shun  the  throng, 

And,  at  their  chosen  time,  start  forth  unhidden, 
With  peerless  valor  or  undying  song. 


125 


Thus  the  true  heart  its  mystic  leaves  concealing, 
Folds  them  serenely  from  the  world's  broad  glare, 

Its  treasured  bliss  and  inmost  grief  revealing 
To  the  calm  starlight  and  the  dewy  air. 

Blest  is  thy  lesson,  vestal  of  the  flowers,  — 
Not  in  the  sunshine  is  our  whole  delight  ; 

Some  joys  bloom  only  in  life's  pensive  hours, 
And  pour  their  fragrance  on  the  breeze  of  nijht. 


THE  HOLY  LAND. 

THROUGH  the  warm  noontide,  I  have  roamed 
Where  Caesar's  palace-ruins  lie, 
And  in  the  Forum's  lonely  waste, 
Oft  listened  to  the  night-wind's  sigh. 

I've  traced  the  moss-lines  on  the  walls 
That  Venice  conjured  from  the  sea, 
And  seen  the  Coliseum's  dust 
Before  the  breeze  of  autumn  flee. 

Along  Pompeii's  lava-street, 
With  curious  eye,  I've  wandered  lone, 
And  marked  Segesta's  temple-floor 
With  the  rank  weeds  of  ages  grown. 

I've  clambered  -/Etna's  hoary  brow, 
And  sought  the  wild  Campagna's  gloom, 
I've  hailed  Geneva's  azure  ti<l<  , 
And  snatched  a  weed  from  Virgil's  tomb. 


1-27 

Why  all  imsated  yearns  my  heart 
To  seek  once  more  a  Pilgrim  shrine  ? 
One  other  land  I  would  explore, — 
The  sacred  fields  of  Palestine. 


Oh,  for  a  glance  at  those  wild  hills, 
That  round  Jerusalem  arise  ! 
And  one  sweet  evening  by  the  lake 
That  gleams  beneath  Judea's  skies  ! 

How  anthem-like  the  wind  must  sound 
In  meadows  of  the  Holy  Land, 
How  musical  the  ripples  break 
Upon  the  Jordan's  moonlit  strand  ! 

Behold  the  dew,  like  angels'  tears, 
Upon  each  thorn  is  gleaming  now, 
Blest  emblem  of  the  crown  of  love 
There  woven  for  the  sufferer's  brow. 

Who  does  not  sigh  to  enter  Nain, 
Or  in  Capernaum  to  dwell ; 
Inhale  the  breeze  from  Galilee, 
And  rest  beside  Samaria's  well  ? 


128 

Who  would  not  stand  beneath  the  spot 
Where  Bethlehem's  star  its  vigil  kept  ? 
List  to  the  plash  of  Siloa's  pool, 
And  kiss  the  ground  where  Jesus  wept  ? 

Gethsemane  who  would  not  seek, 
And  pluck  a  lily  by  the  way  ? 
Through  Bethany  devoutly  walk, 
And  on  the  Mount  of  Olives  pray  ? 

How  dear  were  one  repentant  night 
Where  Mary's  tears  of  love  were  shed  ! 
How  blest  beside  the  Saviour's  tomb, 
One  hour's  communion  with  the  dead  ! 

What  solemn  joy  to  stand  alone 
On  Calvary's  celestial  height ! 
Or  kneel  upon  the  mountain-slope, 
Once  radiant  with  supernal  light! 

I  cannot  throw  my  staff  aside, 
Nor  wholly  quell  the  hope  divine, 
That  one  delight  awaits  me  yet,  — 
A  pilgrimage  to  Palestine. 


LOVE   AND   TIME. 

LET  those  lament  thy  flight, 

Who  find  a  new  delight 
In  every  hour  that  o'er  them  swiftly  flies ; 

Whose  hearts  are  free  and  strong 

As  some  well-carolled  song, 
That  charms  the  ear  with  ever  fresh  surprise. 

To  Wealth's  stern  devotee 

Too  fast  the  moments  flee, 
That  gainful  schemes  to  golden  issues  bring  ; 

And  Fame's  deluded  child, 

By  Glory's  dream  beguiled, 
To  twine  his  laurel  wreath  would  stay  thy  wing. 

They  who  have  learned  to  bind 

The  warm  and  restless  mind 
In  soft  content  to  Pleasure's  rosy  car, 

May  sigh  to  hold  thee  back, 

And  linger  on  the  track 
That  sends  no  lofty  promise  from  afar. 
9 


130 

But  by  the  heart  that  turns 

To  those  celestial  urns 
That  with  Love's  dew  forever  overflow, 

Uncherishcd  are  the  years 

No  sympathy  endears, 
When  all  thy  flowers  droop  beneath  the  snow. 

What  holy  spell  is  thine 

To  bless  a  lonely  shrine, 
Or  wake  glad  echoes  where  no  music  flows  ? 

Why  to  a  barren  thing 

With  senseless  ardor  cling,  „ 
Or  gardens  till  that  never  yield  a  rose  ? 

Yet  when  devotion  pure 

Breeds  courage  to  endure, 
And  grace  to  hallow  the  career  of  time, 

When  for  another's  joy 

Thy  moments  we  employ, 
Like  clouds  by  sunbeams  lit,  they  grow  sublime. 

The  tender,  true  and  brave 
-  Disdain  a  gift  to  save 
In  which  self  only  claims  a  weary  part; 

Nor  would  thy  course  delay 

To  pamper  their  frail  clay, 
And  life  consume  in  tricks  of  soulless  art. 


131 

Haste,  then,  till  thou  hast  brought 

The  good  so  fondly  sought, 
And  Love's  bright  harvest  richly  waves  at  last ! 

Then  will  I  call  thee  mine, 

And  hail  thee  as  divine, 
The  present  cherish,  nor  lament  the  past. 


THE   TWO   PALMS. 

As  the  last  column  of  a  temple  vanished, 
A  Palm-tree,  in  a  city  of  the  West, 

Stood,  like  a  hero  from  his  country  banished, 
A  proud  though  lonely  guest. 

Perchance  its  birthplace  was  a  holy  mountain, 
Or  radiant  valley  of  some  tropic  isle, 

Near  pyramid,  or  mosque,  or  wayside  fountain, 
By  Jordan  or  the  Nile. 

And  oft  its  high  and  tufted  crest  beholding, 
In  each  vibration  of  the  arching  leaves, 

A  plaintive  strain  I  seemed  to  hear  unfolding, 
As  when  an  exile  grieves. 

For  solemn  is  the  air  of  isolation, 

And  that  lone  offspring  of  the  desert  wild, 

Wore  to  my  eye  a  look  of  consecration, 
That  sympathy  beguiled. 


133 

No  more  around  it  eastern  balms  were  stealing, 
But  smoke  and  dingy  vapors  of  the  town, 

No  Moslem  in  its  pillared  shade  was  kneeling, 
Nor  caravan  sunk  down. 


Before  it  once  the  sandy  ridges  heaving, 
Spread  like  an  ocean,  limitless  and  free, 

And  the  mirage  its  panorama  weaving, 
Rose  beautiful  to  see  ! 


Now  waves  of  eager  life  beneath  it  swelling, 
With  restless  care  mock  oriental  ease, 

And  chimney-stacks,  tiled  roof  and  murky  dwelling, 
Shut  out  the  sun  and  breeze. 


Yet  even  here  I  marked,  each  day,  appearing 
An  aged  Syrian,  sorrowful  and  calm, 

With  folded  arms,  wan  smile,  and  looks  endearing 
Cast  on  the  lonely  Palm. 

And  once  he  murmured,  as  the  night  descended, 
While  gazing  fondly  through  unconscious  tears, 

"  Fair  tree,  the  promise  of  thy  life  is  ended, 
For  here  thou  hast  no  peers." 


134 

How  near  the  good  we  distantly  are  craving ! 

The  Syrian  long  had  weary  vigil  kept ; 
One  morn  his  country's  tree  was  gaily  waving, 

It  blossomed  while  he  slept ! 

Some  far-off  nook  of  that  vast  city  treasured 
Another  Palm  by  careless  eyes  unseen, 

That  drearily  the  lingering  years  had  measured, 
Yet  put  forth  shoots  of  green ; 

Until  its  ripened  flower-dust  uplifting, 
On  the  stray  currents  of  the  tideless  air, 

With  certain  aim  to  this  pent  garden  drifting, 
A  mate  encountered  there  ! 


Thus  seeds  of  truth  their  noiseless  flight  are  winging 
And  love  instinctively  steals  through  the  crowd, 

To  hearts  receptive  consolation  bringing, 
They  may  not  breathe  aloud  ! 

Accept  the  omen,  thou  who  toilest  lonely, 
And  patiently  Life's  blossoming  await; 

Where  God  has  planted  tin •<•  !><•  faithful  only, 
And  thou  shall  conquer  Fate  ! 


THE   UNKNOWN   PORTRAIT. 

IN  an  old  palace  by  the  Arno's  side, 

Rich  in  sweet  wonders  of  the  rainbow  art, 

One  portrait,  with  a  look  of  gentle  pride, 
Seems  to  invoke  the  gazer's  eye  and  heart. 

Dark  plumes  his  broad  and  manly  forehead  shade, 
And  in  his  grasp  a  jewelled  hilt  appears ; 

Some  dream  of  hope  before  him  seems  to  fade, 
And  youth  to  wear  the  thoughtfulness  of  years. 

For  ardent  purpose,  in  that  noble  face, 
Is  tempered  by  a  mild  reflective  mood  ; 

The  soldier's  pride  blends  with  the  poet's  grace, 
And  love  o'er  courage  dove-like  seems  to  brood. 

His  race  was  high  —  I  see  it  written  now, 

In  the  knight's  weapon  and  the  princely  dress  ; 

And  more  than  all  in  the  uplifted  brow, 
The  stately  air,  and  smile  of  gentleness. 


136 

IK-  \vas  a  hero  —  though,  perchance,  his  deeds 
Fame's  partial  glance  swept  all  unheeded  by  ; 

The  clear  resolve  of  valor  warmly  pleads 
For  honor's  garland  in  his  dauntless  eye. 

He  must  have  loved  —  I  know  it  by  the  thought 
That  o'er  his  youthful  bloom  a  shade  hath  cast, 

Like  the  sweet  twilight,  with  calm  sadness  fraught, 
That  lingers  when  the  sultry  day  is  past. 

Methinks  some  being  fair,  with  love's  keen  gaze, 
Watched  o'er  the  limner  as  these  lines  he  traced ; 

Time  dimmed  their  hues,  but  grief  nor  length  of  days 
The  magic  semblance  from  her  soul  effaced. 

O  frail  memorial  of  the  young  and  brave, 

Vain  trophy  of  a  human  brother's  lot, 
No  record  from  oblivion  thou  dost  save, 

But  that  he  lived,  and  loved,  and  is  forgot! 


TO   THE   CYPRESS. 

SLOW- WAVING  Cypress  of  the  land  of  song ! 

Perennial  mourner !  —  though  thou  art 

Amid  the  glories  of  the  sylvan  throng, 

Most  eloquent  of  sadness  to  the  heart ; 

Yet  ever  welcome  to  the  weary  eye, 

Thy  graceful  shaft  of  foliated  green, 

Against  the  azure  of  the  morning  sky, 

Upreared  in  beauty,  solemn  and  serene. 

And  where  afar  Day's  vesper  beacons  blaze 

Upon  Fiesole  or  Mario's  height, 

Touching  with  flame  each  mountain  altar  round , 

Shed  on  thy  verdant  cones  a  rosy  gleam, 

And  winds  among  thy  boughs  a  requiem  sound, 

What  fitting  cenotaphs  for  man  ye  seem ! 


LAKE    CANEPO. 

WHEN  cradled  on  thy  placid  breast, 
In  hushed  content  I  loved  to  muse, 

Too  full  the  heart,  too  sweet  the  rest 
For  thought  and  speech  to  interfuse. 

But  now,  when  thou  art  shrined  afar, 
Like  Nature's  chosen  urn  of  peace, 

Remembrance,  like  the  evening  star, 
Begins  a  vigil  ne'er  to  cease. 

Each  mossy  rock,  each  fairy  isle, 
Inlets  with  thickets  overhung, 

The  cloud's  rose-tint  or  fleecy  pile, 
And  Echo's  wildly-frolic  tongue  ; 

Tin-  light  and  shade  that  o'er  thee  play, 
The;  ripple  of  thy  moonlit  wave, 

The  long,  calm,  dreamy  summer  day, 
The  very  stones  thy  waters  lave  ; 


139 

The  converse  frank,  the  harmless  jest, 

The  reverie  without  a  sigh, 
The  hammock's  undulating  rest, 

With  fair  companions  seated  by  ; 

Yet  linger,  as  if  near  thee  still, 
I  heard,  upon  the  fitful  breeze, 

The  locust  and  the  whippoorwill, 
Or  rustle  of  the  swaying  trees. 

Hills  rise  in  graceful  curves  around, 
Here  dark  with  tangled  forest  shade, 

There  yellow  with  the  harvest- ground, 
Or  emerald  with  the  open  glade  ; 

Primeval  chestnuts  line  the  strand, 
And  hemlocks  every  mountain  side, 

While,  by  each  passing  zephyr  fanned, 
Azalia  flowers  kiss  the  tide. 


We  nestle  in  the  gliding  barge, 

And  turn  from  yon  unclouded  sky, 

To  watch,  along  the  bosky  marge, 
Its  image  in  thy  waters  nigh. 


140 

Or,  gently  darting  to  and  fro, 

The  insects  on  their  face  explore, 

With  speckled  minnows  poised  below, 
And  tortoise  on  the  pebbly  floor. 

Or  turn  the  prow  to  some  lone  bay, 

Where  thick  the  floating  leaves  are  spread  ; 

How  bright  and  queen-like  the  array 
Of  lilies  in  their  crystal  bed  ! 

Like  chalices  for  beauty's  lip 

Their  snowy  cones  half  open  lie, 

The  dewdrops  of  the  morn  to  sip, 
But  close  to  day's  intrusive  eye. 

And  in  their  pure  and  stately  grace, 

Their  shrinking  from  the  noontide  glare, 

The  charm  they  yield  their  dwelling-place, 
How  like  the  noblest  of  the  fair ! 


To  thy  serene  and  balmy  air, 

Above  life's  vain  and  common  things, 
Should  gentle  spirits  oft  repair, 

And  fondly  plume  tin -ir  drooping  wings. 


141 

O  let  me  thence,  in  fancy,  bear 

The  dreams  of  youth  by  thee  renewed ; 
And  hallow  the  domain  of  care 

With  visions  born  in  solitude. 


FAITH'S   WARNING. 

THE  vital  elements  of  all  things  gifted 

With  promise  or  with  truth, 
By  God's  own  hand  benignantly  are  lifted 

Into  perennial  youth. 

O  then,  with  gentle  reverence,  surrender 

The  wish  to  interfere, 
Behold  the  miracle,  devout  and  tender, 

But  enter  not  its  sphere  ! 

Childhood,  with  meek  intelligence,  appealing, 

When  guardians  annoy, 
As  gush  the  sympathies  its  life  revealing, 

Asks  freedom  to  enjoy. 

Genius,  by  graceful  waywardness,  achieving 

Its  claim  the  boon  to  share, 
A  narrow  doom  in  Fancy's  world  retrieving, 

Expands  untrammelled  there. 


143 

The  throes  of  nations  plead  that  right  be  tested  - 
The  Present  grapple  fairly  with  the  Past, 

For  Liberty's  pure  zeal,  if  unmolested, 
Will  triumph  at  the  last ! 

Profane  not  Love  in  its  divine  seclusion, 

If  true,  its  hope  is  sure  ; 
Born  in  weak  hearts  it  is  a  chance  illusion, 

That  vainly  would  endure. 

For  all  things  destined  to  survive,  engender 

Their  own  progressive  life, 
And  Truth  forsaken  by  her  last  defender, 

Yet  conquers  in  the  strife. 

In  its  dim  crypt  of  mould  the  seed  implanted 

Will  germinate  and  spring  ; 
Poised  in  her  azure  realm,  the  lark  undaunted 

Exultingly  will  sing. 

The  prayer  of  wisdom,  in  these  later  ages, 

Is  for  unchartered  right 
To  turn,  at  will,  her  own  elected  pages, 

With  unimpeded  sight. 


144 

To  their  own  law  abandon  all  things  real, 

Nor,  with  incessant  care, 
Strive  to  conform  to  thy  perverse  ideal 

What  God  created  fair. 


SONNETS. 


10 


SONNETS. 


FREEDOM. 

FREEDOM  !  beneath  thy  banner  I  was  born, 

Oh  let  me  share  thy  full  and  perfect  life ! 
Teach  me  opinion's  slavery  to  scorn, 

And  to  be  free  from  passion's  bitter  strife  ; 
Free  of  the  world,  a  self-dependent  soul, 

Nourished  by  lofty  aims  and  genial  truth, 
And  made  more  free  by  love's  serene  control, 

The  spell  of  beauty  and  the  hopes  of  youth. 
The  liberty  of  nature  let  me  know, 

Caught  from  the   mountains,  groves  and  crystal 

streams ; 
Her  starry  host,  and  sunset's  purple  glow, 

That  woo  the  spirit  with  celestial  dreams, 
On  fancy's  wing  exultingly  to  soar, 
Till  life's  harsh  fetters  clog  the  heart  no  more. ! 


148 


II. 
VANDERLYN'S    ARIADNE. 

How  like  a  vision  of  pure  love  she  seems ! 

Her  cheek  just  flushed  with  innocent  repose, 
That  folds  her  thoughts  up  in  delicious  dreams, 

Like  dewdrops  in  the  chalice  of  a  rose  ; 
Pillowed  upon  her  arm  and  raven  hair, 

How  archly  rests  that  bright  and  peaceful  brow ! 
Its  rounded  pearl  defiance  bids  to  care, 

While  kisses  on  the  lips  seem  melting  now  ; 
Prone  in  unconscious  loveliness  she  lies, 

And  leaves  around  her  delicately  sway ; 
Veiled  is  the  spl< -ii'lnr  of  her  beaming  eyes, 

But  o'er  the  limbs  bewitching  graces  play : 
Ere  into  Eden's  groves  the  serpent  crept, 
Thus  Eve  within  her  leafy  arbor  slept. 


149 


III. 
TO    ONE    DECEIVED. 

ALL  hearts  are  not  disloyal ;  let  thy  trust 

Be  deep  and  clear  and  all-confiding  still, 
For  though  Love's  fruit  turn  on  the  lips  to  dust, 

She  ne'er  betrays  her  child  to  lasting  ill : 
Through  leagues  of  desert  must  the  pilgrim  go 

Ere  on  his  gaze  the  holy  turrets  rise ; 
Through  the  long  sultry  day  the  stream  must  flow 

Ere  it  can  mirror  twilight's  purple  skies. 
Fall  back  unscathed  from  contact  with  the  vain, 

Keep  thy  robes  white,  thy  spirit  bold  and  free, 
And  calmly  launch  affection's  barque  again, 

Hopeful  of  golden  spoils  reserved  for  thee  ; 
Though  lone  the  way  as  that  already  trod, 
Cling  to  thine  own  integrity  and  God  ! 


lf>0 


IV. 
SLEEP. 

SWEETEST  of  mysteries!  —  thy  dews  revive 

Hearts  that  seemed  blighted  by  toil's  wasting  rime  ; 
They  start  from  thy  embrace  again  to  strive, 

And  with  new  ardor  breast  the  surge  of  time. 
Blest  interlude  !  whose  music  conquers  care, 

Maternal  sleep,  how  soon  away  from  thee 
Does  life  her  young  enchantments  vainly  wear, 

And  all  our  sense  of  pleasure  cease  to  be ! 
Thou  art  the  angel  that  doth  come  at  night 

To  set  us  free,  as  was  the  saint  of  yore  ; 
The  hlrss'mir  that  cloth  crown  us  for  the  fight, 

The  fount  perennial  on  a  barren  shore  : 
Thine  is  the  gift  of  dreams,  the  trance  of  love, 
And  in  thy  breast  peace  nestles  like  a  dove. 


151 


V. 


THE   WILLOW. 

As  o'er  thy  pendent  leaves  the  zephyr  flies, 

Lifting  their  silver  lining  to  the  light, 
Their  mournful  shiver,  like  a  thousand  sighs, 

Wakes  in  the  heart  a  tremulous  delight. 
Thy  weeping  vigil  consecrates  the  grave, 

When  through  each  trailing  bough  the  moonshine 

gleams, 
And,  like  hopes  cast  upon  oblivion's  wave, 

Thy  withered  verdure  flecks  the  autumn  streams. 
What  graceful  meekness  sways  thy  drooping  form, 

Thou  sylvan  effigy  of  love  and  wo  ! 
In  gentle  patience  yielding  to  the  storm, 

The  wisdom  of  a  lowly  trust  to  show : 
Of  thee  divinely  sung  Othello's  bride, 
And  in  thy  shade  the  fair  Ophelia  died. 


152 


VI. 


THE   BALCONY. 

RARE  was  the  pastime  o'er  thy  rail  to  lean, 

And  gaze  upon  the  motley  crowd  below, 
Or  trace  the  distant  valleys  hroad  and  green, 

Girded  by  hills  whose  tops  were  bright  with  snow  : 
It  was  a  spot  to  muse  :  —  life's  waters  beat 

Like  a  swift  river  in  tumultuous  flow, 
Winding  capriciously  beneath  my  feet, 

While  flushed  its  wave  with  nature's  purest  glo\v. 
But  when  around  night's  balmy  silence  fell, 

Thou  wert  a  paradise,  for  by  my  side 
Stood  one,  whose  presence,  like  a  grateful  spell. 

That  scene  of  tranquil  beauty  glorified  : 
Ami  now  thy  name  wakes  thoughts  of  love  that 
Like  the  remembered  music  of  a  «!r«-am  ! 


153 


VII. 
ON  A  LANDSCAPE  BY  BACKHUYSEN. 

NOT  for  the  eye  alone  are  here  outspread 

Skies,  fields,  and  herds  in  such  divine  repose  ; 
The  soul  of  beauty  that  to  these  is  wed, 

Through  the  fair  landscape  tremulously  glows ! 
We  seem  to  feel  the  meadow's  grateful  air, 

Hear  the  low  breathing  of  the  dreamy  kine, 
And  the  pure  fragrance  of  the  harvest  share, 

Until  our  hearts  all  cold  distrust  resign, 
Feeling  once  more  to  truth  and  love  allied ; 

And,  while  the  rich  tranquillity  we  view, 
Each  good  they  have  foretold  and  life  denied, 

Hope's  sweetest  promises  again  renew, 
As  if  the  twilight  angel  hovered  there, 
To  waft  from  nature's  rest  a  balm  for  human  care. 


154 


VIII. 
THE   INDIAN   SUMMER. 

THE  few  sere  leaves  that  to  the  branches  cling, 

Fall  not  to-day,  so  light  the  zephyr's  breath ; 
O'er  Autumn's  sleep  now  plays  the  breeze  of  Spring, 

Like  love's  warm  kiss  upon  the  brow  of  death  : 
Serene  the  firmament,  save  where  a  haze 

Of  dreamy  softness  floats  upon  the  air, 
Or  a  bright  cloud  of  amber  seems  to  gaze 

In  mild  surprise  upon  the  meadows  bare  : 
Summer  revives,  and,  like  a  tender  strain 

Borne  on  the  night-breeze  to  the  wondering  ear, 
With  tender  sighs  melts  Winter's  frosty  chain, 

And  smiles  once  more  upon  the  dying  year : 
Thus  when  we  deem  Time's  frost  has  chilled  the  heart, 
At  Love's  sweet  call  its  languid  pulses  start. 


155 


IX. 


ON  A  PORTRAIT  OF  MRS.  NORTON. 

OH,  who  can  meet  those  dark  and  liquid  eyes, 

And  see  that  form  so  queenlike  in  its  grace, 
Nor  feel  a  thrill  of  passionate  surprise 

That  men  could  mingle  shame  with  such  a  face  ? 
Did  they  behold  thee  who  the  slander  nursed  ? 

Communed  they  ever  with  thy  tender  lays  ? 
And  felt  they  not  their  very  manhood  cursed 

Beneath  thine  earnest  and  bewildering  gaze  ? 
Sweetness  and  pride  that  unto  truth  belong, 

Through  every  lineament  divinely  steal, 
And  like  the  cadence  of  thy  gentle  song, 

Pure  and  devoted  sympathies  reveal : 
O  radiant  minstrel !     Let  it  solace  thee 
That  thou  art  warmly  loved  beyond  the  sea ! 


156 


ON   A   BUST  OF  WEBSTER. 

THERE  is  a  Roman  grandeur  in  that  brow, 

And  lofty  thoughts  within  it  seem  enshrined, 
As  calmly  it  expands  before  me  now, 

Nature's  assurance  of  a  noble  mind ; 
A  stern  serenity  broods  o'er  the  face, 

Most  eloquent  of  a  determined  soul, 
Will  softened  by  the  lines  of  mental  grace, 

Yet  firm  of  purpose,  strong  in  self-control : 
How  glorious  the  art  that  can  subdue 

The  senseless  marble  to  such  forms  of  truth, 
And  mould  the  semblance  of  Earth's  chosen  few 

To  an  enduring  shape  and  second  youth  : 
Bequeath  his  features,  whose  emphatic  page 
Will  nerve  the  spirits  of  a  future  age ! 


157 


XL 
SPRING. 

WHY  fall  the  bonds  of  custom  from  us  now, 

And  wonted  scenes  with  virgin  glory  teem  ? 
While  tender  memories  o'ershade  the  brow, 

And  life  grows  sweet  and  solemn  as  a  dream  ? 
Spring  to  the  earth  has  come  ;  her  fountains  leap, 

In  fields  of  azure  pearly  clouds  repose, 
Meek  flowers  seem  along  the  turf  to  creep, 

And  long  the  lingering  twilight  softly  glows ; 
The  unfettered  streams  to  ocean's  bosom  rush, 

Warm  are  the  sands  the  radiant  billows  lave, 
The  foam-crests  glisten  with  a  brighter  flush, 

And  childhood's  sportive  mood  sways  wind  and 

wave  ; 

Music  and  balm  upon  the  air  float  free, 
As  if  with  youth  renewed  came  immortality  ! 


158 


XII. 
TO   PIUS    IX. 

IN   1848. 

BENIGN  Reformer !  thy  sublime  career 

Has  taught  the  rulers  a  forgotten  art,  — 
That  Truth  may  palsy  Valor's  arm  with  fear, 

And  nerve  a  priest  to  act  a  hero's  part ; 
Achieve  thy  purpose,  give  a  nation  birth, 

Vain  is  the  Jesuit  wile,  the  Austrian  steel ; 
That  sceptre  which  so  long  betrayed  the  earth, 

In  thy  pure  hands  is  swayed  for  human  weal ; 
The  world  with  benedictions  breathes  thy  name, 

And  hails  the  Vatican  as  Freedom's  home, 
With  bloodless  triumphs  thou  hast  won  a  fame 

More  wide  and  stainless  than  the  sky  of  Rome, 
Thy  effigies  a  glorious  challenge  fling 
From  Beauty's  robe  and  Wisdom's  signet  ring. 


159 


XIII. 
TO   THE   SAME. 

IN   1849. 

O,  HAD  it  been  thy  lot  that  hour  to  die, 

The  Pantheon  would  boast  a  dearer  name 
Than  all  who  there  oblivion  defy ! 

Now  thou  hast  won  the  cruel  bigot's  fame  ; 
Apostate,  crouching  in  a  tyrant's  lair 

From  the  just  hate  of  those  thou  hast  betrayed, 
The  craven  fears  of  regal  allies  share, 

And  shun  the  hecatomb  thy  baseness  made  ! 
Thou  art  the  skeleton  at  Freedom's  feast, 

To  which  thy  voice  so  blandly  called  the  world. 
How  soon  the  man  was  vanquished  by  the  priest, 

And  in  the  dust  the  faith  of  nations  hurled ! 
God  speeds  the  new  crusade  for  human  rights, 
While  patient  scorn  thy  cowardice  requites. 


160 


XIV. 

ON   THE   DEATH   OF   ALLSTON. 

THE  element  of  beauty  which  in  thee 

Was  a  prevailing  spirit,  pure  and  high, 
And  from  all  guile  had  made  thy  being  free, 

Now  seems  to  whisper  thou  canst  never  die  ! 
For  Nature's  priests  we  shed  no  idle  tear, 

Their  mantles  on  a  noble  lineage  fall  ; 
Though  thy  white  locks  at  length  have  pressed  the  bier, 

Death  could  not  fold  thee  in  Oblivion's  pall : 
Majestic  forms  thy  hand  in  grace  arrayed, 

Eternal  watch  shall  keep  beside  thy  tomb, 
And  hues  aerial  that  thy  pencil  stayed, 

Its  shades  with  Heaven's  radiance  illume ; 
Art's  meek  apostle,  holy  is  thy  sway, 
From  the  heart's  records  ne'er  to  pass  away ! 


161 


XV. 
FROM    THE    ITALIAN, 

IN  a  fair  garden  grew  a  purple  rose, 

Shedding  abroad  an  odor  fresh  and  rare  ; 
A  nymph  beholding,  with  sweet  transport  glows, 

And  at  the  winsome  sight  exclaims  "  How  fair ! " 
Her  gentle  hand  to  pluck  it  she  extends, 

But  envious  thorns  are  hid  beneath  its  leaves : 
As  o'er  it  with  a  trustful  joy  she  bends, 

A  sudden  wound  her  ardent  grasp  deceives. 
"Alas!"  she  murmurs,  unow  the  truth  I  feel, 

That  beauty  ever  is  allied  to  pain, 
Life's  richest  music  discords  will  reveal, 

And  every  blessing  hath  its  kindred  bane." 
"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  thyself  doth  prove  it  true  ; 
For  thou  art  lovely  and  yet  cruel  too." 

11 


162 


XVI. 
THE  BASSO-RELIEVO  OF  JUPITER  AND  HEBE. 

POISED  on  his  mighty  wings,  Jove's  kingly  bird 

Stoops  to  the  cup  luxurious  Hebe  fills  ; 
All  day  those  wings  the  empyrean  have  stirred, 

But  now  each  plume  a  soft  enchantment  thrills  ; 
The  lone  and  weary  monarch  of  the  skies 

Lapt  in  content,  imbibes  the  draught  of  Love, 
By  gentle  hands,  and  tender,  watchful  eyes, 

Nurtured  to  soar  Ambition's  flight  above. 
Fondly  majestic  bending  o'er  the  urn 

Exhaustless  as  her  sympathetic  breast, 
With  calm  delight  see  the  fair  goddess  turn, 

Dispensing  feel  the  rapture  of  her  guest, 
To  show  how  poor  unshared  is  Nature's  wealth 
While  Love  to  noble  souls  alone  is  health. 


163 


XVII. 
TO    JENNY    LIND. 

A  MELODY  with  Southern  passion  fraught 

I  hear  thee  warble  :  'tis  as  if  a  bird 
By  intuition  human  strains  had  caught, 

But  whose  pure  breast  no  kindred  feeling  stirred. 
Thy  native  song  the  hushed  arena  fills, 

So  wildly  plaintive,  that  I  seem  to  stand 
Alone,  and  see,  from  off  the  circling  hills, 

The  bright  horizon  of  the  North  expand ! 
High  art  is  thus  intact ;  and  matchless  skill 

Born  of  intelligence  and  self-control, — 
The  graduated  tone  and  perfect  trill 

Prove  a  restrained,  but  not  a  frigid  soul ; 
Thine  finds  expression  in  such  generous  deeds, 
That  music  from  thy  lips  for  human  sorrow  pleads ! 


164 


XVIII. 
DESOLATION. 

THINK  ye  the  desolate  must  live  apart, 

By  solemn  vows  to  convent-walls  confined  ? 
Ah  !  no  ;  with  men  may  dwell  the  cloisterM  heart, 

And  in  a  crowd  the  isolated  mind  ; 
Tearless  behind  the  prison-bars  of  fate, 

The  world  sees  not  how  desolate  they  stand, 
Gazing  so  fondly  through  the  iron  grate 

Upon  the  promised  yet  forbidden  land  ; 
Patience,  the  shrine  to  which  their  bleeding  feet 

Day  after  day  in  voiceless  penance  turn  ; 
Silence,  the  holy  cell  and  calm  retreat, 

In  which  unseen  their  meek  devotions  burn  ; 
Life  is  to  them  a  vigil  which  none  share, 
Their  IIOJM-S  a  sarrili<-<-,  tln-ir  love  a  prayer. 


165 


XIX. 
STEINHAUSEN'S    HERO    AND    LEANDER, 

FAINT  from  the  wave,  each  nerve  by  toil  unstrung, 

Behold  life  mantle  in  his  glowing  face 
With  the  delight  that  cannot  find  a  tongue, 

How  vain  are  words  to  yield  expression  place, 
When  the  instinctive  grasp,  the  yielding  form, 

The  lips  that  seem  to  quiver  with  content, 
So  well  proclaim  the  haven  in  life's  storm  — 

The  heart's  goal  reached — the  kindred  spirits  blent! 
Let  the  cold  spray  lave  their  unconscious  feet, 

And  time  bring  round  the  parting  hour  again, 
Now  Love's  pure  triumph  is  once  more  complete, 

And  present  joy  oblivious  of  pain  ; 
As  in  enraptured  silence,  heart  meets  heart, 
Genius  the  moment  seized  to  consecrate  for  Art ! 


166 


XX. 
DELAROCHE'S    PICTURE 

OF    NAPOLEON    CROSSING    THE    ALPS. 

L'NCONSCIOUS  of  the  dreary  wastes  around, 

Of  sleet  that  pierces  with  each  fitful  blast, 
The  icy  peaks,  the  rough  and  treacherous  ground, 

Huge  snow-drifts  by  the  whirlwind's  breath  amassed, 
Through  which  the  jaded  mule  with  noiseless  tread, 

Patient  and  slow,  a  certain  foothold  seeks, 
By  the  old  peasant-guide  so  meekly  led ; 

Moves  the  wan  conqueror,  with  sunken  cheeks, 
O'er  heights  as  cold  and  lonely  as  his  soul, — 

The  chill  lips  blandly  set,  and  the  dark  eyes 
Intent  with  fierce  ambition's  vast  control, 

Sad,  keen,  and  thoughtful  of  the  distant  prize  ; 
With  the  imperial  robes  and  warlike  steed, 
That  face  ne'er  wore  such  blended  might  and  need  ! 


167 


XXI. 
ALLEGHANIA. 

WORTHY  the  patriot's  thought  and  poet's  lyre, 

This  second  baptism  of  our  native  earth, 
To  consecrate  anew  her  manhood's  fire, 

By  a  true  watchword  all  of  mountain-birth  ; 
For  to  the  hills  has  Freedom  ever  clung, 

And  their  proud  name  should  designate  the  free  ; 
That  when  its  echoes  through  the  land  are  rung, 

Her  children's  breasts  may  warm  to  liberty ! 
My  country  !  in  the  van  of  nations  thou 

Art  called  to  raise  Truth's  lonely  banner  high ; 
'Tis  fit  a  noble  title  grace  thy  brow, 

Born  of  thy  race,  beneath  thy  matchless  sk} 
And  Alps  and  Appenines  resign  their  fame, 
When  thrills  the  world's  deep  heart  with  Alleghania's 
name ! 


168 


XXII. 

O  FOR  a  castle  on  a  woodland  height ! 

High  mountains  round,  and  a  pure  stream  below, 
Within  all  charms  that  tasteful  hours  invite, 

Wise  books  of  poesy  and  music's  flow  ;  — 
A  grassy  lawn  through  which  to  course  our  steeds, 

A  gothic  chapel  in  seclusion  reared, 
Where  we  could  solace  find  for  holiest  needs, 

And  grow  by  mutual  rites  the  more  endeared : 
How  such  captivity  alone  with  thee 

Would  lift  to  Paradise  each  passing  day ! 
Then  all  revealed  my  patient  love  would  be, 

And  thou  couldst  not  a  full  response  delay : 
For  Truth  makes  holy  Love's  illusive  dreams, 
And  their  best  promise  constantly  redeems. 


169 


XXIII. 

THE  rain-drops  patter  on  the  casement  still, 

So  hushed  the  room  each  faint  watch-tick  I  hear, 
The  crackling  of  the  embers  seems  to  fill 

This  brooding  quiet  with  an  accent  clear : 
I've  looked  awhile  upon  the  gifted  page, 

Glanced  at  the  dingy  roofs  and  leaden  sky, 
Or  paced  the  floor  my  mind  to  disengage, 

Chiding  the  languid  hours  as  they  fly  ; 
In  vain !  the  thought  of  thee  overmasters  all, 

Now  waking  joy,  and  now  a  dark  surmise, 
As  memory  spreads  her  banquet  or  her  pall, 

And  bids  me  hopeless  sink  or  gladsome  rise : 
On  what  bright  wings  these  lonely  hours  would  flee, 
Dared  I  but  feel  that  thou  hast  thought  of  me  ! 


170 


XXIV. 

WHAT  though  our  dream  is  broken  ?     Yet  again 

Like  a  familiar  angel  it  shall  bear 
Consoling  treasures  for  these  days  of  pain, 

Such  as  they  only  who  have  grieved  can  share  ; 
As  unhived  nectar  for  the  bee  to  sip, 

Lurks  in  each  flower-cell  which  the  spring-time 

brings, 
As  music  rests  upon  the  quiet  lip, 

And  power  to  soar  yet  lives  in  folded  wings, 
So  let  the  love  on  which  our  spirits  glide, 

Flow  deep  and  strong  beneath  its  bridge  of  sighs, 
No  shadow  resting  on  the  latent  tide 

Whose  heaven-ward  current  baffles  human  < 
Until  we  stand  upon  tin;  holy  shore, 
And  realms  it  prophesied,  at  length  explore. 


171 


XXV. 

IN  my  first  youth,  the  feverish  thirst  for  gain 

That  in  this  noble  land  makes  life  so  chill, 
Was  tempered  to  a  wiser  trust  by  pain, 

Hope's  early  blight,  —  a  chastening  sense  of  ill ; 
And  I  was  exiled  to  a  sunny  clime, 

Where  cloud  and  flower  a  softer  meaning  caught 
From  graceful  forms  and  holy  wrecks  of  time, 

Appealing  all  to  fond  and  pensive  thought ; 
Enamored  of  the  Beautiful  I  grew, 

And  at  her  altar  pledged  my  virgin  soul, — 
O  let  me  here  those  treasured  vows  renew, 

And  thou  the  service  shalt  henceforth  control  ; 
For  in  thy  graces  and  thy  love  sincere 
Lives  the  blest  spirit  that  I  yet  revere. 


172 


XXVI. 

COURAGE  and  patience  !  elements  whereby 

My  soul  shall  yet  her  citadel  maintain, 
Baffled,  perplexed,  and  struggling  oft  to  fly 

Far,  far  above  this  realm  of  wasting  pain,  — 
Come  with  your  still  and  banded  vigor  now, 

Fill  my  sad  breast  with  energy  divine, 
Stamp  a  firm  thought  upon  my  aching  brow, 

Make  my  impulsive  visions  wholly  thine, 
Freeze  my  pent  tears,  chill  all  my  tender  dreams, 

Brace  my  weak  heart  in  panoply  sublime  ; 
Till  duelling  only  on  my  martyr  themes, 

And,  turning  from  the  richest  lures  of  time, 
Love,  like  an  iceberg  of  the  polar  deep, 
In  adamantine  rest  is  laid  asleep. 


173 


XXVII. 

"  My  mind's  the  same 
It  ever  was  to  you.    Where  I  find  worth 
I  love  the  keeper,  till  he  let  it  go, 
And  then  I  follow  it."  —  Old  Play. 

LIKE  the  fair  sea  that  laves  Italians  strand, 

Affection's  flood  is  tideless  in  my  breast ; 
No  ebb  withdraws  it  from  the  chosen  land, 

Havened  too  richly  for  enamored  quest : 
Thus  am  I  faithful  to  the  vanished  grace 

Embodied  once  in  thy  sweet  form  and  name, 
And  though  love's  charm  no  more  illumes  thy  face, 

In  memory's  realm  her  olden  pledge  I  claim. 
It  is  not  constancy  to  haunt  a  shrine 

From  which  devotion's  lingering  spark  has  fled  ; 
Insensate  homage  only  wreaths  can  twine 

Around  the  pulseless  temples  of  the  dead : 
Thou  from  thy  better  self  hast  madly  flown, 
While  to  that  self  allegiance  still  I  own. 


174 


XXVIII. 

THE  buds  have  opened,  and  in  leafy  pride 

Woo  the  soft  winds  of  this  capricious  May ; 
With  a  refreshing  green  the  fields  are  dyed, 

And  clearer  sparkles  on  the  waters  play. 
All  Nature  speaks  of  boundless  promise  now, 

In  tones  as  sweet  as  thine,  —  her  hand  is  laid 
With  a  maternal  greeting  on  my  brow, 

Until  its  fevered  throbbings  all  are  stayed  ; 
And  I  am  fain  to  lie  upon  her  breast, 

Unconscious  of  the  world,  divorced  from  pain. 
Drink  from  her  rosy  lips  the  balm  of  rest, 

And  be  her  glad  and  trustful  child  again : 
But  such  fond  dalliance  claims  a  spirit  free, 
And  all  her  spells  are  broken  —  without 


175 


XXIX. 
SEMPRE  LO  STESSO. 

EVER  the  same  !  —  let  this  our  watchword  be 

Upon  the  dreary  battlements  of  time, 
With  a  clear  soul  I  breathe  it  unto  thee 

In  tones  whose  fervor  mocks  this  idle  rhyme  ; 
Ever  the  same  ;  —  how  sweet  to  earn  with  pain 

The  tested  love  that  casteth  out  all  fear, 
And  amid  all  we  suffer,  doubt  and  feign, 

To  own  one  true  and  self-absorbing  sphere  ! 
Ever  the  same  ;  —  as  moons  the  waters  draw, 

A  simple  presence  calms  all  inward  strife, 
And,  by  the  sway  of  some  benignant  law, 

With  high  completeness  fills  the  sense  of  life : 
The  Holy  One  this  sacred  thought  confest 
When  leaning  on  his  fond  disciple's  breast. 


J 


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